itt passages that made you cry

[Anonymous No.17840564]

>This stretch of desert, exhaustion, loss of faith, icing-up in the midst of youth; this onset of dotage at the wrong time; this tyranny of pain surpassed still by the tyranny of a pride that refused the conclusions of pain - and conclusions are consolations; this radical seclusion as a self-def ence against a pathologically clairvoyant contempt for humanity, this !imitation in principle to what was bitter, harsh, painful to know, as prescribed by the nausea that had gradually developed from l an incautious and excessively luxurious spiritual diet - one calls it romanticism - oh, who could re-experience all of this as I did?
kino

[Anonymous No.17840568]

>>17840564
Jesus, why do you fags always create shitty threads?

[Anonymous No.17840588]

>>17840564
This comes from Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, where the creature sees the dead body of Frankenstein and laments. In reply to Walton's accusation that he feels sorrow only because he didn't get to personally kill Frankenstein, he says:
>“Yet such must be the impression conveyed to you by what appears to be the purport of my actions. Yet I seek not a fellow feeling in my misery. No sympathy may I ever find. When I first sought it, it was the love of virtue, the feelings of happiness and affection with which my whole being overflowed, that I wished to be participated. But now that virtue has become to me a shadow, and that happiness and affection are turned into bitter and loathing despair, in what should I seek for sympathy? I am content to suffer alone while my sufferings shall endure; when I die, I am well satisfied that abhorrence and opprobrium should load my memory. Once my fancy was soothed with dreams of virtue, of fame, and of enjoyment. Once I falsely hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning my outward form, would love me for the excellent qualities which I was capable of unfolding. I was nourished with high thoughts of honour and devotion. But now crime has degraded me beneath the meanest animal. No guilt, no mischief, no malignity, no misery, can be found comparable to mine. When I run over the frightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the same creature whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness. But it is even so; the fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone.

This passage always stuck with me as a sad sort of elegy. It echoes the themes of falling from heaven, like Satan in Paradise Lost.