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المؤلف: Mary Shelley

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My life, as it passed thus, was indeed hateful to me, and it was
during sleep alone that I could taste joy. O blessed sleep!
Often, when most miserable, I sank to repose, and my dreams
lulled me even to rapture. The spirits that guarded me had
provided these moments, or rather hours, of happiness that I
might retain strength to fulfil my pilgrimage. Deprived of this
respite, I should have sunk under my hardships. During the day I
was sustained and inspirited by the hope of night, for in sleep I
saw my friends, my wife, and my beloved country; again I saw the
benevolent countenance of my father, heard the silver tones of my
Elizabeth's voice, and beheld Clerval enjoying health and youth.
Often, when wearied by a toilsome march, I persuaded myself that
I was dreaming until night should come and that I should then
enjoy reality in the arms of my dearest friends. What agonising
fondness did I feel for them!

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