people have never read it, but almost everyone has heard of it.
It tells the story of Victor, a Swiss scientist, born in Geneva and brought up by his parents to understand the world through science. While still a child, he sees a lightning bolt strike a tree and wonders if that is the source of life. Could man create another human being?
And like a modern version of Prometheus, the mythological figure who stole fire from the gods in order to help mankind(the author used The Modern Prometheus as her subtitle, but few remember this), he begins to work to try and replicate God’s greatest deed. Needless to say, despite all the care he takes, the experiment slides out of his control.
The title of the book: Frankenstein.
Dear God, of whom I think very little but in whom I trust in times of affliction, did I come here purely by chance? Or was it Your invisible and implacable hand that led me to this castle and reminded me of that story?
Mary met Shelley when she was fifteen. He was already married, but, undeterred by social conventions, she followed the man she considered the love of her life.
Fifteen! And she already knew exactly what she wanted. And knew how to get it, too. I’m in my thirties and wish for a different things every hour, but am incapable of fulfilling them … although I’m perfectly capable of walking through a romantic, melancholy autumn afternoon, thinking about what to say when the moment arrives.
I am not Mary Shelley. I’m Victor Frankenstein and his monster.
I tried to breathe life into something inanimate, and the result will be the same as in the book: spreading terror and destruction.
No more tears. No more despair. I feel as though my heart has given up beating. My body reacts accordingly, because I can’t move. It’s autumn, and the evening comes on quickly, the lovely sunset soon replaced by twilight. I’m still sitting here when night comes, looking at the castle and seeing its tenants scandalizing the bourgeoisie of Geneva at the beginning of the nineteenth century.
Where is the lightning bolt that brought the monster to life?
No bolt from out of the blue. The traffic, which isn’t very heavy in this area, anyway, grows still thinner. My children will be waiting for their dinner, and my husband—who knows the state I’m in—will soon start to worry. But it’s as if I have a ball and chain around my feet. I still can’t move.
I’m a loser.
SHOULD someone beg forgiveness for harboring an impossible Love?
No, certainly not.
Because God’s Love for us is also impossible. It’s never requited at the time, and yet He continues to love us. He loved us so much that He sent His only son to explain how Love is the force that moves the sun and all the stars. In one of his letters to the Corinthians (which we were made to learn by heart at school), Paul says:
Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
And we all know why. We often hear what seem to be great ideas to transform the world, but they are words spoken without feeling, empty of Love. However logical and intelligent they might be, they do not touch us.
Paul compares Love with Prophecy, with knowledge of the Mysteries, and with Faith and Charity.
Why is Love more important than Faith?
Because Faith is merely the road that leads us to the Greater Love.
Why is Love more important than Charity?
Because Charity is only one of the manifestations of Love. And the whole is always more important than the part. And Charity is also only one of the many roads that Love uses to bring man closer to his fellow man.
And we all know that there is a lot of Charity out there without Love. Every week, a “charity ball” is held. People paya fortune to buy a table, take part, and have fun in their jewels and their expensive clothes. We leave thinking that the world is a better place because of the amount of money collected for the homeless in
It tells the story of Victor, a Swiss scientist, born in Geneva and brought up by his parents to understand the world through science. While still a child, he sees a lightning bolt strike a tree and wonders if that is the source of life. Could man create another human being?
And like a modern version of Prometheus, the mythological figure who stole fire from the gods in order to help mankind(the author used The Modern Prometheus as her subtitle, but few remember this), he begins to work to try and replicate God’s greatest deed. Needless to say, despite all the care he takes, the experiment slides out of his control.
The title of the book: Frankenstein.
Dear God, of whom I think very little but in whom I trust in times of affliction, did I come here purely by chance? Or was it Your invisible and implacable hand that led me to this castle and reminded me of that story?
Mary met Shelley when she was fifteen. He was already married, but, undeterred by social conventions, she followed the man she considered the love of her life.
Fifteen! And she already knew exactly what she wanted. And knew how to get it, too. I’m in my thirties and wish for a different things every hour, but am incapable of fulfilling them … although I’m perfectly capable of walking through a romantic, melancholy autumn afternoon, thinking about what to say when the moment arrives.
I am not Mary Shelley. I’m Victor Frankenstein and his monster.
I tried to breathe life into something inanimate, and the result will be the same as in the book: spreading terror and destruction.
No more tears. No more despair. I feel as though my heart has given up beating. My body reacts accordingly, because I can’t move. It’s autumn, and the evening comes on quickly, the lovely sunset soon replaced by twilight. I’m still sitting here when night comes, looking at the castle and seeing its tenants scandalizing the bourgeoisie of Geneva at the beginning of the nineteenth century.
Where is the lightning bolt that brought the monster to life?
No bolt from out of the blue. The traffic, which isn’t very heavy in this area, anyway, grows still thinner. My children will be waiting for their dinner, and my husband—who knows the state I’m in—will soon start to worry. But it’s as if I have a ball and chain around my feet. I still can’t move.
I’m a loser.
SHOULD someone beg forgiveness for harboring an impossible Love?
No, certainly not.
Because God’s Love for us is also impossible. It’s never requited at the time, and yet He continues to love us. He loved us so much that He sent His only son to explain how Love is the force that moves the sun and all the stars. In one of his letters to the Corinthians (which we were made to learn by heart at school), Paul says:
Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
And we all know why. We often hear what seem to be great ideas to transform the world, but they are words spoken without feeling, empty of Love. However logical and intelligent they might be, they do not touch us.
Paul compares Love with Prophecy, with knowledge of the Mysteries, and with Faith and Charity.
Why is Love more important than Faith?
Because Faith is merely the road that leads us to the Greater Love.
Why is Love more important than Charity?
Because Charity is only one of the manifestations of Love. And the whole is always more important than the part. And Charity is also only one of the many roads that Love uses to bring man closer to his fellow man.
And we all know that there is a lot of Charity out there without Love. Every week, a “charity ball” is held. People paya fortune to buy a table, take part, and have fun in their jewels and their expensive clothes. We leave thinking that the world is a better place because of the amount of money collected for the homeless in
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