I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
And so, being young and dipt in folly, I fell in love with melancholy.
All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.
I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.
All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.
The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?
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