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Yet from whom has not that rude hand rent away some dear connection? 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. My mother was dead, but we had still duties which we ought to perform; we must continue our course with the rest and learn to think ourselves fortunate whilst one remains whom the spoiler has not seized. (3.2)
Here, Victor is saying that at some point grief becomes "an indulgence." Apparently, devoting yourself to creating life because you're so torn up about your mom's death doesn't count as grief.
When I slept or was absent, the forms of the venerable blind father, the gentle Agatha, and the excellent Felix flitted before me. I looked upon them as superior beings who would be the arbiters of my future destiny. I formed in my imagination a thousand pictures of presenting myself to them, and their reception of me. I imagined that they would be disgusted, until, by my gentle demeanour and conciliating words, I should first win their favour and afterwards their love. (12.17)
The monster doesn't have a family of his own (a family of birth), so he's trying to make one (a family of choice). The difference between a family of birth and a family of choice is a super important to writers in the nineteenth century—that's why there are so many orphans in nineteenth-century literature—but here, Mr. Monster doesn't get to have either.