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curiosity. It might mean death, but what a scaffold!
he knew nothing yet well enough to see it: you cannot see things till you know roughly what they are.
he must leave a deed on his memory instead of one more broken dream.
But each moment my opinion about sanity changed. Had it ever been more than a convention—a comfortable set of blinkers, an agreed mode of wishful thinking, which excluded from our view the full strangeness and malevolence of the universe we are compelled to inhabit?
