I read them now without feeling, or with the accustomed feeling minus all its charm; and I became persuaded, that my love of mankind, and of excellence for its own sake, had worn itself out.

I sought no comfort by speaking to others of what I felt.

If I had loved anyone sufficiently to make confiding my griefs a necessity, I should not have been in the condition I was.

I felt, too, that mine was not an interesting, or in any way respectable distress.

There was nothing in it to attract sympathy.