"...a mind reflecting ages past, a voice like the echo of the congregated roar of the dark rearward abyss of thought. He who has seen a mouldering tower by the side of a crystal lake, hidden in the mist, but glittering in the wave below may concieve the dim, gleaming, uncertain intelligence of his eye: he who has marked the evening clouds unrolled(a world of vapours) has seen seen the picture of his mind, unearthly, unsubstantial, with gorgeous tints and ever-varying forms.... "
William Hazlitt, defining his own age while being seemingly bedraggled and jaded against future advancements in the arts and sciences....
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