Waking Dreams

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I shall thus give a general answer to the question, so frequently asked me—”How I, then a young girl, came to think of, and to dilate upon, so very hideous an idea?”
As a child I scribbled; and my favourite pastime, during the hours given me for recreation, was to “write stories.” Still I had a dearer pleasure than this, which was the formation of castles in the air—the indulging in waking dreams—the following up trains of thought, which had for their subject the formation of a succession of imaginary incidents. My dreams were at once more fantastic and agreeable than my writings.
My dreams were all my own; I accounted for them to nobody; they were my refuge when annoyed — my dearest pleasure when free.

Introduction to the 1831 edition of Frankenstein

Mary Shelley (30 August 1797 – 1 February 1851)

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