There are some secret moving springs in the affections, which when they are set a-going by some object in view, or be it some object, though not in view, yet rendered present to the mind by the power of imagination, that motion carries out the soul by its impetuosity to such violent eager embracings of the object that the absence of it is insupportable.
Sheesh, such cumbersome and unlovely style makes me glad I grew up in a time when authors had had another 200 years of practice.
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