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"You, who call Frankenstein your friend, seem to have a knowledge

of my crimes and his misfortunes. But in the detail which he gave

you of them he could not sum up the hours and months of misery

which I endured wasting in impotent passions. For while I

destroyed his hopes, I did not satisfy my own desires. They were

for ever ardent and craving; still I desired love and fellowship,

and I was still spurned. Was there no injustice in this? Am I to

be thought the only criminal, when all humankind sinned against

me? Why do you not hate Felix, who drove his friend from his door

with contumely? Why do you not execrate the rustic who sought to

destroy the saviour of his child? Nay, these are virtuous and

immaculate beings! I, the miserable and the abandoned, am an

abortion, to be spurned at, and kicked, and trampled on. Even now

my blood boils at the recollection of this injustice.