Chapter 9

Nothing is more painful to the human mind than, after the feelings have been worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of inaction and certainty which follows and deprives the soul both of hope and fear.

Justine died, she rested, and I was alive.

The blood flowed freely in my veins, but a weight of despair and remorse pressed on my heart which nothing could remove.

Sleep fled from my eyes; I wandered like an evil spirit, for I had committed deeds of mischief beyond description horrible, and more, much more (I persuaded myself) was yet behind.

Yet my heart overflowed with kindness and the love of virtue.
I had begun life with benevolent intentions and thirsted for the moment when I should put them in practice and make myself useful to my fellow beings.