Chapter 1
There is no passion in nature so demoniacally impatient, as that of him,
who shuddering upon the edge of a precipice, thus meditates a Plunge.
To indulge, for a moment, in any attempt at thought, is to be inevitably lost;
for reflection but urges us to forbear, and therefore it is, I say, that we cannot.
If there be no friendly arm to check us, or if we fail in a sudden effort to
prostrate ourselves backward from the abyss, we plunge, and are destroyed.
~ from “The Imp of the Perverse,” 1845
099948680027 января 2015Chapter 1