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Danh ngôn của Mary Shelley (Sứ mệnh: 8)

My dreams were all my own; I accounted for them to nobody; they were my refuge when annoyed - my dearest pleasure when free.
I do not wish women to have power over men; but over themselves.
It is hardly surprising that women concentrate on the way they look instead of what is in their minds since not much has been put in their minds to begin with.
My dreams were at once more fantastic and agreeable than my writings.
And now, once again, I bid my hideous progeny go forth and prosper. I have an affection for it, for it was the offspring of happy days, when death and grief were but words, which found no true echo in my heart.
Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a torrent of light into our dark world.
The agony of my feelings allowed me no respite; no incident occurred from which my rage and misery could not extract its food.
The very winds whispered in soothing accents, and maternal Nature bade me weep no more.