When a man mistakes his thoughts for persons and things, he is mad.
My case is a species of madness, only that it is a derangement of the Volition, and not of the intellectual faculties.
Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth, And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny, and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.
And to be wroth with one we love…Doth work like madness in the brain.
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