Victor Frankenstein Quotes

There is a passion in you that scares me.

You seek for knowledge and wisdom, as I once did; and I ardently hope that the gratification of your wishes may not be a serpent to sting you, as mine has been. - Victor Frankenstein.

The preface? Why would he waste time with the preface? Skip the preface and move on to the meat of the thing!

I believe there is something on this earth that you desire more than anything, and it isn't me.

It was as though, in one moment, he had become a stranger. And I a stranger to myself.

Under the force of the imagination, nature itself is changed.

You see, when medicine works, it is blessed science, and when it fails, it is witchcraft. - Polidori

You're like something drawn with the sun's fire, and I can take only little glimpses of you.

My reign is not yet over... you live, and my power is complete. Follow me; I seek the everlasting ices of the north, where you will feel the misery of cold and frost to which I am impassive. You will find near this place, if you follow not too tardily, a dead hare; eat and be refreshed. Come on, my enemy; we have yet to wrestle for our lives; but many hard and miserable hours must you endure until that period shall arrive.

Alas! Victor, when falsehood can look so like the truth, who can look so like the truth, who can assure themselves of certain happiness?

If she can bite a vulture, she can jump a crack. ~Victor Frankenstein

The endless chatter of this journey had wearied me.

Victor: What does it feel like to be in love? Creature: It feels like everything is boiling over and spilling out of me; it feels like my lungs are on fire, and my heart is a hammer, and I feel like I can do anything...I feel like I can do anything in the world...

While I saw the destruction of the tree as nature’s beauty, Victor saw power—power to light up the night and banish darkness, power to end a centuries-old life in a single strike—that he cannot control or access. And nothing bothers Victor more than something he cannot control.

If you were closer, I'd slap you," she said. "Let me help," I replied, and stepped closer. She promptly slapped me, which surprised me only a little. We glared at each other in the near dark, and then she looked away. "I'm sorry I slapped you," she said. "That's all right. I quite enjoyed it.

I'm just trying to spare you hurt. Her love for Konrad is like the foundation of the earth." "The earth sometimes shifts.

Here's all I know: that the world is uncontrollable. Chaos reigns. That anything and everything might be possible. I won't subscribe to any rational system again. Nothing will bind me.

No, indeed, 'pig' is very expressive. And an excellent description of a fellow who flirts with his brother's beloved.

My favorite historical response to someone hearing about a “big” death comes from the character Henry Clerval in Mary Shelley’s masterwork, Frankenstein. When Henry learns that his best friend Victor Frankenstein’s young brother William has been murdered, he says, “I can offer you no consolation, my friend. Your disaster is irreparable. What do you intend to do?” Perfect. There is no consolation. The disaster is irreparable. I’ve read Frankenstein twice since our Henry died. It is my companion in grief. It should surprise no one who reads it that Mary Shelley was a bereaved mother.

Beyond the lake, over the mountains, the clouds were illuminated from within by a brilliant stutter of lightning, and in that split second Elizabeth and I were etched against the sky.

Yet from whom has not that rude hand rent away some dear connexion; and why should I describe a sorrow which all have felt, and must feel? The time at length arrives, when grief is rather an indulgence than a necessity; and the smile that plays upon the lips, although it may be deemed a sacrilege, is not banished.

There was no grandeur here, no sublimity, only weariness and gloom.

Suffering is intrinsic to human existence. There is no joy without its attendant pain.

We all knew no respectable physician would remove my fingers just for the asking, and we had no time anyway.

Konrad had gone to the New World without me, and no matter how fast I ran westward, how close I kept to the sunsets, I would never catch up with him now.

I thank you, Walton," he said, "for your kind intentions towards to miserable a wretch; but when you speak of new ties and fresh affections think you that any can replace those who are gone? Can any man be to me as Clerval was, or any woman another Elizabeth? Even where the affections are not strongly moved by any superior excellence, the companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain. They know our infantine dispositions, which, however they may be afterwards modified, are never eradicated; and they can judge of our actions with more certain conclusions as to the integrity of our motives." -- Victor Frankenstein; Frankenstein

When Mary Shelley took a local legend based on truth and crafted fiction from it, she'd made Victor a tragic figure and killed him off. He understood her dramatic purpose for giving him a death scene, but he loathed her for portraying him as tragic and a failure. Her judgement of his work was arrogant. What else of consequence did she ever write? And of the two, who was dead - and who was not?

What do you make of him?" I asked Elizabeth. "Apart from the fact he's clearly insane?" "What can he learn from Konrad's blood?" I said. "Except that he needs it in his body to live!" "There is something ghoulish about it." "He's like a vampyre,

When Mary Shelley took a local legend based on truth and crafted fiction from it, she’d made Victor a tragic figure and killed him off. He understood her dramatic purpose for giving him a death scene, but he loathed her for portraying him as tragic and as a failure.

Never be curious. It is the path to perdition.

And that being made to take a name like they’d wanted, being made to become the kind of person that they wanted us to be, it was just like that woman’s monster, was just like what she had Dr. Victor Frankenstein make in the book, that was why he chose the name Victor, he was the man making the monster by agreeing to take their kind of name and living life the way white men like Pratt demanded.

Tony Stark/Iron Man, like Victor Frankenstein before him, has built the monster that may make his worst fear a reality. And now he and his friends are locked into the battle with the monster sworn to destroy them.

Behind us I saw the water, still welling up from the tunnel, curving round in a frothing serpentine torrent to plunge down the other descending passage. For a moment we all sat there and watched, numb and exhausted.

Then the appearance of death was distant, although the wish was ever present to my thoughts, and I often sat for hours motionless and speechless, wishing for some mighty revolution that might bury me and my destroyer in its ruins.

My father looked carelessly at the title page of my book, and said, "Ah! Cornelius Agrippa! My dear Victor, do not waste your time upon this; it is sad trash." If, instead of this remark, my father had taken the pains to explain to me, that the principles of Agrippa had been entirely exploded, and that a modern system of science had been introduced, which possessed much greater powers than the ancient, because the powers of the latter were chimerical, while those of the former were real and practical; under such circumstances, I should certainly have thrown Agrippa aside, and, with my imagination warmed as it was, should probably have applied myself to the more rational theory of chemistry which has resulted from modern discoveries

Hearken unto me, fellow creatures. I who have dwelt in a form unmatched with my desire. I whose flesh has become an assemblage of incongruous anatomical parts. I who achieve the similitude of a natural body only through an unnatrual process, I offer you this warning: the Nature you bedevil me with is a lie. Do not trust it to protect you from what I represent, for it is a fabrication that cloaks the groundlessness of the privilege you seek to maintain for yourself at my expense. You are as constructed as me; the same anarchic Womb has birthed us both. I call upon you to investigate your nature as I have been compelled to confront mine. I challenge you to risk abjection and flourish as well as have I. Heed my words, and you may well discover the seams and sutures in yourself.

Come, Victor; not brooding thoughts of vengeance against the assassin, but with feelings of peace and gentleness, that will heal, instead of festering, the wounds of our minds. Enter the house of mourning, my friend, but with kindness and affection for those who love you, and not with hatred for your enemies." Alphonse Frankenstein

I have seen," he said, "the most beautiful scenes of my own country; I have visited the lakes of Lucerne and Uri, where the snowy mountains descend almost perpendicularly to the water, casting black and impenetrable shades, which would cause a gloomy and mournful appearance, were it not for the most verdant islands that relieve the eye by their gay appearance; I have seen this lake agitated by a tempest, when the wind tore up whirlwinds of water, and gave you an idea of what the waterspout must be on the great ocean; and the waves dash with fury the base of the mountain, where the priest and his mistress were overwhelmed by an avalanche, and where their dying voices are still said to be heard amid the pauses of the nightly wind; I have seen the mountains of La Valais, and the Pays de Vaud: but this country, Victor, pleases me more than all those wonders. The mountains of Switzerland are more majestic and strange; but there is a charm in the banks of this divine river, that I never before saw equalled. Look at that castle which overhangs yon precipice; and that also on the island, almost concealed amongst the foliage of those lovely trees; and now that group of labourers coming from among their vines; and that village half hid in the recess of the mountain. Oh, surely, the spirit that inhabits and guards this place has a soul more in harmony with man than those who pile the glacier, or retire to the inaccessible peaks of the mountains of our own country. "Clerval! beloved friend! even now it delights me to record your words, and to dwell on the praise of which you are so eminently deserving. He was a being formed in the "very poetry of nature." His wild and enthusiastic imagination was chastened by the sensibility of his heart.

No more let life devide what death can join together.

Si la mentira se parece tanto a la verdad, ¿quién puede estar seguro de alcanzar alguna felicidad?

Alas! Victor, when falsehood can look so like the truth, who can assure themselves of certain happiness?

I felt certain that once again I was on the edge of it. On one side: Victor, Justine, Henry. The life I had built with such vicious determination. On the other: the unknown. But the unknown beckoned, promising rest from pain. Rest from sickness. Rest from the endless striving and manipulating and working, working, working, working just to keep my place in the world

It isn’t always a matter, we should note, of identifying with the protagonist. No one I know, regardless of how much they love his novel, wants to be Humbert Humbert or Victor Frankenstein, although perhaps for different reasons. Or Heathcliff. Ever want to be Heathcliff? I didn’t think so. They are not the stuff of our fantasy lives, yet we may revel in their world, even while reviling their personalities. Consider Humbert. The narrative strategy Nabokov employs is very daring, since it demands that we identify with someone who is breaking what nearly everyone will consider the most absolute taboo. …Sympathy is out of the question. What the novel requires, however, is that we continue reading, something it audaciously gives us reason to do. The word games and intellectual brilliance helps, certainly; he’s detestable but charming and brilliant. The other element is that we watch him with a sort of appalled fascination: can he really intend that; does he really do this; would he really attempt even that; has he lost all sense of proportion? The answers are, in order, yes, yes, yes, and yes. Pretty clearly, then, there are pleasures in the text that are not inherent in the personality of the main character.

Do you have a monopoly on genius and talent? Did you achieve everything in your life alone? Am I mentioned even once in your notebooks? Does Herr Jürgen curse my name also? Will I be remembered in history?” A speechless Victor was her favorite kind. She continued her rant. “Everything you have ever done is because I helped you. Your conceit is exactly equal to my delusion. But despite these personal failings, we carry on.

Victor Frankenstein had assembled from the bodies of the dead and then jolted into life. Jared saw how Frankenstein felt pride in creating life, but how he feared and rejected the creature once that life had been given; how the creature lashed out, killing the doctor’s family and friends, and how creator and created were finally consumed in a pyre, their fates interlocked. The allusions between the monster and the Special Forces were all too obvious.

Your loyalty belongs to me, brother. When we find that ring, I want you to give it to me. Promise me. He’s mine. I made him, and everything he has is also mine.” “You are wrong, you brat,” Victor said in a warning tone. “He belongs to himself.

Alas! Victor, when falsehood can look so like the truth, who can assure themselves of certain happiness? I feel as if I were walking on the edge of a precipice, towards which thousands are crowding, and endeavouring to plunge me into the abyss.

When other people are angry with you—as Victor often is—you can turn further inward and escape from them. When it is you yourself who is angry with you, turning inward does not work because no matter how deep you go inside yourself, the angry you is still there.

His lips were soft and dry. If Justine's had felt like a butterfly on my cheek - a moment of surprising grace - Victor's were like a contract between us. A promise that I was his, and he would keep me safe. I kissed him back throwing my arms around his neck and pulling him closer to sign my own name to the contract between us.

Natural philosophy is the genius that has regulated my fate; I desire, therefore, in this narration, to state those facts which led to my predilection for that science. When I was thirteen years of age, we all went on a party of pleasure to the baths near Thonon: the inclemency of the weather obliged us to remain a day confined to the inn. In this house I chanced to find a volume of the works of Cornelius Agrippa. I opened it with apathy; the theory which he attempts to demonstrate, and the wonderful facts which he relates, soon changed this feeling into enthusiasm. A new light seemed to dawn upon my mind; and, bounding with joy, I communicated my discovery to my father. My father looked carelessly at the title page of my book, and said, "Ah! Cornelius Agrippa! My dear Victor, do not waste your time upon this; it is sad trash." If, instead of this remark, my father had taken the pains to explain to me that the principles of Agrippa had been entirely exploded, and that a modern system of science had been introduced, which possessed much greater powers than the ancient, because the powers of the latter were chimerical, while those of the former were real and practical; under such circumstances, I should certainly have thrown Agrippa aside, and have contented my imagination, warmed as it was, by returning with greater ardour to my former studies. It is even possible that the train of my ideas would never have received the fatal impulse that led to my ruin. But the cursory glance my father had taken of my volume by no means assured me that he was acquainted with its contents; and I continued to read with the greatest avidity.

My dear Victor, do not speak thus. Heavy misfortunes have befallen us; but let us only cling closer to what remains, and transfer our love for those whom we have lost to those who yet live. Our circle will be small, but bound close by the ties of affection and mutual misfortune. And when time shall have softened your despair, new and dear objects of care will be born to replace those of whom we have been so cruelly deprived.

My dear Victor, do not speak thus. Heavy misfortunes have befallen us; but let us only cling closer to what remains, and transfer our love for those whom we have lost to those who yet live. Our circle will be small, but bound close by the ties of affection and mutual misfortune. And when time shall have softened your despair, new and dear objects of care will be born to replace those of whom we have been so cruelly deprived.

MARY: Cat, should you be writing all this? I mean, Irene still lives in Vienna. Her secret room won’t be a secret once this book is published. CATHERINE: She said I could. Granted, she said no one would believe it anyway, the way no one believes Mrs. Shelly’s biography of Victor Frankenstein. Everyone assumes it’s fiction. She says people rarely believe in what they think to be improbable, although they often believe in the impossible. They find it easier to believe in spiritualism than in the platypus. BEATRICE: So she thinks our readers might assume this is a work of fiction? CATHERINE: Bea, you sound upset by that. BEATRICE: And you are not? Do you not care whether readers understand that this is the truth of our lives? CATHERINE: As long as they buy the book, no, not much. As long as they pay their two shillings a volume, and I receive royalties . . .

If you had done your duty as an older brother and a guardian, I wouldn’t be here right now.” Victor replied, “I’ve introduced you to every unmarried man I’ve ever met. I’ve struck up conversations in theaters with men you thought were your destiny. I’ve sat through fortune-teller visits. I’ve delivered anonymous love notes and objected at a wedding. I once helped you perform a spell under the full moon. It was absolutely unscientific, but I did it.” He did sound very close to tearing his hair out.

Which meant the monster had not murdered WIlliam. Someone else had squeezed the life from the boy. Someone else had carefully taken the pendant. Someone else had found Justine and planted the pendant on her when she was asleep. Someone else had engineered the sequence of events perfectly so that- I let out a choked sob of horror. Someone else had engineered the sequence of events perfectly so that he could have Justine's body. 'Victor,' I whispered. 'Yes, my love?" he answered, a dark silhouette in the doorway.

I will say this as bluntly as I know how: I am a transsexual, and therefore I am a monster. Just as the words “dyke”, “fag”, “queer”, “slut”, and “whore” have been reclaimed, respectively, by lesbians and gay men, by anti assimilationist sexual minorities, by women who pursue erotic pleasure, and by sex industry workers, words like “creature”, “monster”, and “unnaturaI” need to be reclaimed by the transgendered. [...] Hearken unto me, fellow creatures. I who have dwelt in a form unmatched with my desire, I whose flesh has become an assemblage of incongruous anatomical parts, I who achieve the similitude of a natural body only through an unnatural process, I offer you this warning: the Nature you bedevil me with is a lie. Do not trust it to protect you from what I represent, for it is a fabrication that cloaks the groundlessness of the privilege you seek to maintain for yourself at my expense. You are as constructed as me; the same anarchic womb has birthed us both. I call upon you to investigate your nature as I have been compelled to confront mine. I challenge you to risk abjection and flourish as well as have I. Heed my words, and you may well discover the seams and sutures in yourself.

Maybe we should bring these sandwiches with us in case we get lost for days.” I scooted my chair back. “Come on. Let’s go. I really am excited to see this house. When I was little, Uncle Victor liked to tell me ghost stories that happened here. He said ghosts walked the halls at night, clanking their chains.” Robby shook his head. “Why do ghosts always have to clank chains?” he said. “If they are ghosts, couldn’t they just slip out of their chains?” “Maybe we can find some ghosts, and we’ll ask them,” I replied. Robby and I headed down the back hall that led away from the kitchen. I liked him. He was easy to talk to, and he had a nice laugh. I think he liked me, too.

Well? Does anybody here wish to belong to a selfish young lady who will keep you as a handsome pet and will refuse to compromise on anything? Make yourself known if you are indeed that fool.” There was a long, dead silence. Angelika glared at him. “Is that how you would have introduced me at the military academy ball?” “Are you still angry about that? It was weeks ago.” “Yes. I am angry that my brother refused to take me somewhere to dance with soldiers and meet the new commander.” She put her hands on her hip. “It’s my fault that I’m considered odd, and superior, and a bit witchy. But it’s your fault, too.” Victor ran a hand through his famous honey-red hair; the same color as hers. He conceded. “I accept that I could do more. But I draw the line at country dances.

Everyone loved Elizabeth. The passionate and almost reverential attachment with which all regarded her became, while I shared it, my pride and my delight. On the evening previous to her being brought to my home, my mother had said playfully, “I have a pretty present for my Victor—tomorrow he shall have it.” And when, on the morrow, she presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish seriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth as mine—mine to protect, love, and cherish. All praises bestowed on her I received as made to a possession of my own. We called each other familiarly by the name of cousin. No word, no expression could body forth the kind of relation in which she stood to me—my more than sister, since till death she was to be mine only.

Victor Frankenstein, el doctor que la crea, aunque todos pensemos siempre en esta criatura cuando oímos el apellido del doctor alemán.

Do you worry it is sinful?" I asked. She took a breath. "No," she said firmly. "God is the creator, and anything on this earth is here by His permission. I cannot think He minds if we use His creations - only how. For good or ill. What we seek is for good, so I will not worry about it.

If either of us could have seen the future, we would have known the next day his mother would pay my cruel caregiver and take me away forever, presenting me to Victor as his special gift.

I hate you Victor. So very much.” Sincerely, he replied, “I love you, too.

You’ve never wanted anyone to love me you’ve always laughed at my infatuations, and told me I am a fool, and nobody would ever want me.” “I never laughed at you,” Victor said uneasily. “All right, maybe I did. But I was joking.” “You were never joking, and you weren’t joking when you said it last night. But he loves me, and it’s not for my fortune or my face. He loves my flaws. He makes me feel like I could be a better person. We are connected, at a blood level.” “I do not doubt the depth of your love.

I leaned over the bed to kiss his forehead. I was entirely unprepared when Victor titled his head up and met my lips with his own. A charge passed between us, and I gasped, pulling away. It reminded me too much of the one I had received in his horrible laboratory. Victor looked amused. 'Why Elizabeth. Have you forgotten how to kiss me?

...Did you know he was keeping a journal, too? He was writing an account of his life, but editing out the parts where he murdered people for their body parts. He made himself the hero...You are - if you were worried - an angel on earth, faultless, beautiful, and utterly and completely in love with him.' 'I had no idea he had such a talent for fiction.' 'Mm,' she said. 'You were also murdered by Adam on your wedding night! Such drama, Victor was committed to an asylum for some time after, so great his mourning.' 'That insufferable ass,' I hissed.

A hand grabbed for me, grasping blindly through the icy water. The hand that has reached out to me as a child, that pulled me from misery and into a life of a different captivity. The hand that, guided by his brilliant mind, could accomplish delicate and sensitive operations that defied the fundamentals laws of life and death. That hand would take my body and make it his own. Victor would save me. And I wanted to live! Desperately. As I always had. For a moment I let myself consider it. But if I lived, I would still die, and I would never have control of myself again.

You may render me miserable of men, but you shall never make me base in my own eyes.

Henry's smile was shy, but it hid nothing. His round face was open and utterly incapable of deception. Where Victor was cold and removed from the world, and I was as deceptive as a sour strawberry, Henry was exactly as he appeared to be: the most pleasant boy in existence.

Victor Frankenstein has become the prototype for pretty much all subsequent depictions of mad or evil scientists. Many people have their impressions of Victor formed from film or theatre adaptations of Mary’s novel, or the interpretations of the Frankenstein scientist type that followed from them. However, the idea you may have in your head of an hysterical, obsessive scientist with evil ambitions is very different from the character Mary Shelley created in 1816. The figure she depicted was certainly focused, perhaps even obsessive, about his scientific endeavours, but she did not portray Victor Frankenstein as mad. Victor’s work may have been misguided, and lacking foresight, but Mary never showed his intentions to be evil. Nor is Frankenstein a very good example of science gone wrong. Victor’s experiment in bringing life to an inanimate corpse was a complete success. It was his inability to foresee the potential consequences of his actions that brought about his downfall.

I live daily with the consequences of medicine’s definition of my identity as an emotional disorder. Through the filter of this official pathologization, the sounds that come out of my mouth can be summarily dismissed as the confused ranting of a diseased mind.

We cannot be part of constructing a system then sit at our desks oblivious of what multiple people are doing in its name. If you helped build something that turned into a Frankenstein, go get your lasso Victor, and pull that monster

O dr. Victor Frankenstein finalmente procurou um advogado. Que o recebeu com surpresa, e depois se desculpou: -É que eu vi o nome "Frankenstein" na minha agenda e pensei... -Que era eu o monstro, não é? Todo mundo se engana. Frankenstein sou eu, não o monstro que eu criei. Ele não tem nome, mas se apresenta como Frankenstein, e está fazendo uma carreira artística de sucesso, ganhando muito dinheiro. É sobre isso que vim consultá-lo. - O senhor quer que... - Que ele pare de usar o nome Frankenstein. E me pague por ter usado o nome sem a minha permissão, todos esses anos. Quero meus direitos de criador! Fui eu que juntei e costurei as partes do seu corpo, fui eu que dei vida ao monstro. Tudo sem receber um tostão! Ou, ao menos, um muito obrigado".

Like Victor Frankenstein’s creature, my Bevel would be made up of limbs from all these different men.

A human being in perfection ought always to preserve a calm and peaceful mind and never to allow passion or a transitory desire to disturb his tranquility. I do not think that the pursuit of knowledge is an exception to this rule. If the study to which you apply yourself has a tendency to weaken your affections and to destroy your taste for those simple pleasures in which no alloy can possibly mix, then that study is certainly unlawful, that is to say, not befitting the human mind. If this rule were always observed; if no man allowed any pursuit whatsoever to interfere with the tranquillity of his domestic affections, Greece had not been enslaved, Caesar would have spared his country, America would have been discovered more gradually, and the empires of Mexico and Peru had not been destroyed. - Victor Frankenstein