In spite of the air of fablethe public were still not at all disposed to receive it as fable. I thence concluded that the facts of my narrative would prove of such a nature as to carry with them sufficient evidence of their own authenticity.
And so, being young and dipt in folly, I fell in love with melancholy.
Scorching my seared heart with a pain, not hell shall make me fear again.
Sleep, those little slices of death — how I loathe them.
No man who ever lived knows any more about the hereafter than you and I.
As an individual, I myself feel impelled to fancy ... a limitless succession of Universes.... Each exists, apart and independently, in the bosom of its proper and particular God.