Reader, did you ever feel in that peculiarly distressing state of mind in which one oppressing idea displaces or colours every other, absorbing, intermingling with, empoisoning, and, like the filth of the harpy, turning every thing into disgust--when a certain incubus rides upon the brain, as the Old Man of the Mountain did upon the shoulders of Sinbad, burdening, irritating, and rendering existence a misery--when, looking around, you see but one object perched everywhere and grinning at you--when even what you put into your mouth tastes of but that one something, and the fancied taste is so unpleasant as almost to prevent deglutition--when every sound which vibrates in your ear appears to s…
Your support pays for translating these classics into more languages.
Support for $12/month DonateSubscribers read with instant translation, without waiting for the free daily limit.