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丕毓鬲乇丕賮丕鬲 蹖讴 賲毓鬲丕丿 丕賳诏賱蹖爻蹖
Confessions of an English Opium-Eater by Thomas De Quincey is an in-depth description of the authors personal experiences with Opium. This is a fascinating account of all of the psychological and social factors as well as the emotional experiences before and during his time using the substance. A masterpiece, and a great addition to any book collection. All profits from the sale of this book will be going towards the Freeriver Community project, a project that aims to promote peace and harmony on earth. To learn more about the Freeriver community project please visit the website; www.freerivercommunity.com
96 pages
First published January 1, 1821
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About the author
Thomas de Quincey
1,135听books292听followersThomas de Quincey was an English author and intellectual, best known for his Confessions of an English Opium-Eater (1821).
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June 13, 2017The Opium Eaters, a comedy, based on the sleeping habits of Thomas de Quincey and Marcel Proust.
Characters:
Marcel Proust
Thomas de Quincey
The curtain goes up on a bedroom scene. Two of the walls are cork-lined, the third is a bare stone wall roughly coated with Roman cement. In the angle of the two cork-lined walls is a narrow wrought-iron bedstead covered with an eiderdown quilt and beside it, a night-table on which lie books, papers, and a little brass bell.
Against the stone wall there is a brass bedstead piled high with blankets, and beside it a night-table on which lie books, papers, and a little gold bottle.
There is someone lying on each of the beds.
Marcel Proust:
Longtemps, je me suis couch茅 de bonne heure...
(Propping himself on his elbow, he becomes aware of the audience and immediately reaches for the bell which he rings impatiently while calling out for his servant to come and close the curtains):
Fran莽oise, Fran莽oise, il faut fermer les rideaux - il y a une foule immense devant la fen锚tre!
Thomas de Quincey, (sitting up in his bed angrily):
My dear sir, desist immediately from your tintinnabulous propensities. These velvet drapes will be closed at the end of the scene and not before, so you are wasting your breath, which I see you have little enough of, in calling for it to be done ahead of time. And indeed your feeble efforts are doubly futile since the character you call for is not even in the play, and the people you speak of are only the audience, such a harmless group that is in no way to be feared, unlike the horrible hoards who people my own dreams; and can I caution you, dear sir, for I perceive you to be something of a valetudinarian, against becoming a confirmed heautontimourousmenos...
Marcel Proust, (rubbing his eyes):
Bougre! Qui est-ce qui me lance des propos incompr茅hensibles plein de mots int茅rminables et de phrases imp茅n茅trables?
T de Q, (swinging his legs over the side of the bed):
Ah, you wonder who addresses you in such elaborately constructed language? Allow me to introduce myself.
(He walks to the centre of the stage)
I am Thomas de Quincey and you and I are characters in a play, and please note, my dear sir, that this play is in English, and therefore oblige us by refraining from any outbursts 脿 la fran莽aise henceforth. I might remind you also that this play is being staged in the year of our Lord, 2013 to mark the bicentenary of the events contained in one of the chapters of the most famous of my works, the essay with the much disputed title among my peers of 'Confessions', yes, my dear sir, not a sensational 'Diary of an Addict', but the humble , and a work furthermore in which my contemporaries believed I was being too confidential and too communicative..
MP, (rising from his bed to look at a calendar hanging on the wall):
But if this is indeed the year 2013, then this play is surely meant to mark the centenary of the publication of my most famous work, my 'Recherche', that single work on which I devoted the labour of my whole life, and had dedicated my intellect, blossoms and fruits, to the slow and elaborate toil of constructing it...
T de Q, (holding up a document):
I think that you are on the wrong page of the script, my dear sir, those are in fact my lines, taken directly from page 175 of the 'Confessions', referring to my own life鈥檚 work, begun upon too great a scale for the resources of the architect alas, and which because of the very subject of this play, was likely to stand as a memorial of hopes defeated, of baffled efforts, of materials uselessly accumulated; of foundations laid that were never to support a super-structure, of the grief and the ruin of the architect.
MP, (moving towards the front of the stage and speaking directly to the audience):
Strange how these words of his recall my own fears and doubts concerning the completion and future acclaim of the 'Recherche', although I always subscribed to the belief that true works of art are slow to receive their full recognition, and must wait for a period when the author himself will have crumpled to dust. This centenary celebration, and your devoted presence proves me right.
(He nibbles on the corner of his moustache and mumbles to himself): Where are the Bergottes and the Blochs? All gone and forgotten while I alone have survived to become the keystone of modern literature...
T de Q, (lying down again upon his bed):
But alas, opium had a palsying effect on my intellectual faculties...
MP, (walking across to T鈥檚 bedside table, picking up the gold bottle and sniffing its contents):
I too have often reflected on the kinds of sleep induced by the multiple extracts of ether, of valerian, of opium...
T de Q, (closing his eyes):
I must now pass to what is the main subject of these confessions, to the history of what took place in my dreams. At night, when I lay in my bed, vast processions passed along in mournful pomp; friezes of never-ending stories, that to my feelings were as sad and as solemn as if they were stories drawn from times before Oedipus or Priam, before Tyre, before Memphis.
MP, (massaging his temples):
I feel something quiver in me, shift, try to rise, the glimmer of a visual memory, the elusive eddying of stirred-up colours...a magic lantern full of impalpable iridescences, multicoloured apparitions where legends are depicted as in a wavering, momentary stained-glass window...
T de Q, (in a dreamy voice):
A theatre seemed suddenly opened and lighted up within my brain, which presented nightly spectacles of more than earthly splendour. As the creative state of the eye increased, a sympathy seemed to arise between the waking and the dreaming states of the brain in one point, that whatsoever I happened to call up and to trace by a voluntary act upon the darkness was very apt to transfer itself to my dreams...
MP, (going back to sit on the side of his bed):
Yes, what one has meant to do during the day, one accomplishes only in one鈥檚 dreams, that is to say after it has been distorted by sleep into following another line than one would have chosen when awake. The same story branches off and has a different ending.
T de Q:
All this and other changes in my dreams were accompanied by deep-seated anxiety and gloomy melancholy, such as wholly incommunicable by words...
MP, (lying down):
But my sadness was only increased by those multi-coloured apparitions of the lantern..
T de Q:
The sense of space, and in the end the sense of time, were both powerfully affected. Buildings, landscapes, &c., were exhibited in proportions so vastly as the bodily eye is not fitted to receive....
MP, (closing his eyes):
In Combray, I moved through the church...a space with, so to speak, four dimensions - the fourth being Time - extending over the centuries...
T de Q:
The minutist incidents of childhood, or forgotten scenes of later years, were often revived...
MP:
I have many pictures preserved by my memory of what Combray was during my childhood..
T de Q:
The following dream...a Sunday morning in May...Easter Sunday..right before me lay the scene which could really be commanded from that situation, but exalted, as was usual, and solemnised by the power of dreams...the hedges were rich with white roses...
MP:
It was at Easter...in the month of May that I remember...in the church..little branches of buds of a dazzling whiteness...
T de Q:
I find it impossible to banish the thought of death when I am walking alone in the endless days of summer...
MP:
That summer day seemed as dead, as immemorially ancient as...a mummy
T de Q:
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...........
MP:
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..................
Audience:
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..................
Readers:
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz........................
Characters:
Marcel Proust
Thomas de Quincey
The curtain goes up on a bedroom scene. Two of the walls are cork-lined, the third is a bare stone wall roughly coated with Roman cement. In the angle of the two cork-lined walls is a narrow wrought-iron bedstead covered with an eiderdown quilt and beside it, a night-table on which lie books, papers, and a little brass bell.
Against the stone wall there is a brass bedstead piled high with blankets, and beside it a night-table on which lie books, papers, and a little gold bottle.
There is someone lying on each of the beds.
Marcel Proust:
Longtemps, je me suis couch茅 de bonne heure...
(Propping himself on his elbow, he becomes aware of the audience and immediately reaches for the bell which he rings impatiently while calling out for his servant to come and close the curtains):
Fran莽oise, Fran莽oise, il faut fermer les rideaux - il y a une foule immense devant la fen锚tre!
Thomas de Quincey, (sitting up in his bed angrily):
My dear sir, desist immediately from your tintinnabulous propensities. These velvet drapes will be closed at the end of the scene and not before, so you are wasting your breath, which I see you have little enough of, in calling for it to be done ahead of time. And indeed your feeble efforts are doubly futile since the character you call for is not even in the play, and the people you speak of are only the audience, such a harmless group that is in no way to be feared, unlike the horrible hoards who people my own dreams; and can I caution you, dear sir, for I perceive you to be something of a valetudinarian, against becoming a confirmed heautontimourousmenos...
Marcel Proust, (rubbing his eyes):
Bougre! Qui est-ce qui me lance des propos incompr茅hensibles plein de mots int茅rminables et de phrases imp茅n茅trables?
T de Q, (swinging his legs over the side of the bed):
Ah, you wonder who addresses you in such elaborately constructed language? Allow me to introduce myself.
(He walks to the centre of the stage)
I am Thomas de Quincey and you and I are characters in a play, and please note, my dear sir, that this play is in English, and therefore oblige us by refraining from any outbursts 脿 la fran莽aise henceforth. I might remind you also that this play is being staged in the year of our Lord, 2013 to mark the bicentenary of the events contained in one of the chapters of the most famous of my works, the essay with the much disputed title among my peers of 'Confessions', yes, my dear sir, not a sensational 'Diary of an Addict', but the humble , and a work furthermore in which my contemporaries believed I was being too confidential and too communicative..
MP, (rising from his bed to look at a calendar hanging on the wall):
But if this is indeed the year 2013, then this play is surely meant to mark the centenary of the publication of my most famous work, my 'Recherche', that single work on which I devoted the labour of my whole life, and had dedicated my intellect, blossoms and fruits, to the slow and elaborate toil of constructing it...
T de Q, (holding up a document):
I think that you are on the wrong page of the script, my dear sir, those are in fact my lines, taken directly from page 175 of the 'Confessions', referring to my own life鈥檚 work, begun upon too great a scale for the resources of the architect alas, and which because of the very subject of this play, was likely to stand as a memorial of hopes defeated, of baffled efforts, of materials uselessly accumulated; of foundations laid that were never to support a super-structure, of the grief and the ruin of the architect.
MP, (moving towards the front of the stage and speaking directly to the audience):
Strange how these words of his recall my own fears and doubts concerning the completion and future acclaim of the 'Recherche', although I always subscribed to the belief that true works of art are slow to receive their full recognition, and must wait for a period when the author himself will have crumpled to dust. This centenary celebration, and your devoted presence proves me right.
(He nibbles on the corner of his moustache and mumbles to himself): Where are the Bergottes and the Blochs? All gone and forgotten while I alone have survived to become the keystone of modern literature...
T de Q, (lying down again upon his bed):
But alas, opium had a palsying effect on my intellectual faculties...
MP, (walking across to T鈥檚 bedside table, picking up the gold bottle and sniffing its contents):
I too have often reflected on the kinds of sleep induced by the multiple extracts of ether, of valerian, of opium...
T de Q, (closing his eyes):
I must now pass to what is the main subject of these confessions, to the history of what took place in my dreams. At night, when I lay in my bed, vast processions passed along in mournful pomp; friezes of never-ending stories, that to my feelings were as sad and as solemn as if they were stories drawn from times before Oedipus or Priam, before Tyre, before Memphis.
MP, (massaging his temples):
I feel something quiver in me, shift, try to rise, the glimmer of a visual memory, the elusive eddying of stirred-up colours...a magic lantern full of impalpable iridescences, multicoloured apparitions where legends are depicted as in a wavering, momentary stained-glass window...
T de Q, (in a dreamy voice):
A theatre seemed suddenly opened and lighted up within my brain, which presented nightly spectacles of more than earthly splendour. As the creative state of the eye increased, a sympathy seemed to arise between the waking and the dreaming states of the brain in one point, that whatsoever I happened to call up and to trace by a voluntary act upon the darkness was very apt to transfer itself to my dreams...
MP, (going back to sit on the side of his bed):
Yes, what one has meant to do during the day, one accomplishes only in one鈥檚 dreams, that is to say after it has been distorted by sleep into following another line than one would have chosen when awake. The same story branches off and has a different ending.
T de Q:
All this and other changes in my dreams were accompanied by deep-seated anxiety and gloomy melancholy, such as wholly incommunicable by words...
MP, (lying down):
But my sadness was only increased by those multi-coloured apparitions of the lantern..
T de Q:
The sense of space, and in the end the sense of time, were both powerfully affected. Buildings, landscapes, &c., were exhibited in proportions so vastly as the bodily eye is not fitted to receive....
MP, (closing his eyes):
In Combray, I moved through the church...a space with, so to speak, four dimensions - the fourth being Time - extending over the centuries...
T de Q:
The minutist incidents of childhood, or forgotten scenes of later years, were often revived...
MP:
I have many pictures preserved by my memory of what Combray was during my childhood..
T de Q:
The following dream...a Sunday morning in May...Easter Sunday..right before me lay the scene which could really be commanded from that situation, but exalted, as was usual, and solemnised by the power of dreams...the hedges were rich with white roses...
MP:
It was at Easter...in the month of May that I remember...in the church..little branches of buds of a dazzling whiteness...
T de Q:
I find it impossible to banish the thought of death when I am walking alone in the endless days of summer...
MP:
That summer day seemed as dead, as immemorially ancient as...a mummy
T de Q:
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...........
MP:
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..................
Audience:
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..................
Readers:
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz........................
November 24, 2016
If there is reincarnation I want them to put a hold on mine until humanity has invented drugs that don't have a down-side to them. No tiresome side effects, like early death. And they'll be cheap. And you'll still be able to fire up your jet pack and get to the office and do your job and impress your team leader. And no skin blemishes. O drugs of the future, I salute you and your friendliness and complete lack of ill effects!
Because you see opium, for one, as Thomas de Quincey demonstrates in this famous but I think not much read book, has seriously deleterious effects upon the user's syntax. It goes all to hell. Thomas can start sentences but finds it really..like...hard... to finish them, so he adds in piles of clausy digressiony blah-blah-blah uninteresting detail in exactly the same way that drugged up people think that talking about their tattoos or their dealer for hours could possibly be interesting even for a halfnanosecond to their undrugged locutors..
When people in the future take their drugs of no down-side, they will converse graciously about matters of interest to all. And plus, they will never sit down heavily on their girlfriend's little cute dog and squash it flat, like Christopher Moltisanti did in The Sopranos. He didn't even realise he'd done it until she came in and asked him where her little darling was. In the future, that will never happen.
O Cosette!
Because you see opium, for one, as Thomas de Quincey demonstrates in this famous but I think not much read book, has seriously deleterious effects upon the user's syntax. It goes all to hell. Thomas can start sentences but finds it really..like...hard... to finish them, so he adds in piles of clausy digressiony blah-blah-blah uninteresting detail in exactly the same way that drugged up people think that talking about their tattoos or their dealer for hours could possibly be interesting even for a halfnanosecond to their undrugged locutors..
When people in the future take their drugs of no down-side, they will converse graciously about matters of interest to all. And plus, they will never sit down heavily on their girlfriend's little cute dog and squash it flat, like Christopher Moltisanti did in The Sopranos. He didn't even realise he'd done it until she came in and asked him where her little darling was. In the future, that will never happen.
O Cosette!
September 13, 2017
3.5 stars. One can see why Confessions was such a favorite among the drug-addled youngsters of the 60s and 70s. The title is catchy but--surprise!--its not primarily a book about drug experiences. Only the last 20 or so pages plumb that. It's about suffering, homelessness, and penury. There were passages that reminded me of 1993's by Lars Eighner, a wonderfully written book about homelessness.
The class system of Britain, thank God it's dying, systemically prevented true eleemosynary activity. Anyone deemed to be a victim of their own excess was not considered worthy of care. As de Quincey states:
It took me ten pages to acclimate to the slightly archaic diction, but once I did the reading was enjoyable. There's a guardedness about certain episodes in the author's life which evoked wonder and curiosity in this reader. He focuses on opium addiction almost to the utter exclusion of everything else. The focus is laser-like. Who the man himself might actually be, remains a mystery. Recommended.
The class system of Britain, thank God it's dying, systemically prevented true eleemosynary activity. Anyone deemed to be a victim of their own excess was not considered worthy of care. As de Quincey states:
The stream of London charity flows in a channel which, though deep and mighty, is yet noiseless and underground; not obvious or readily accessible to poor houseless wanderers; and it cannot be denied that the outside air and framework of London society is harsh, cruel, and repulsive.
It took me ten pages to acclimate to the slightly archaic diction, but once I did the reading was enjoyable. There's a guardedness about certain episodes in the author's life which evoked wonder and curiosity in this reader. He focuses on opium addiction almost to the utter exclusion of everything else. The focus is laser-like. Who the man himself might actually be, remains a mystery. Recommended.
January 4, 2022
鈥淥h! just, subtle, and mighty opium! that to the hearts of poor and rich alike, for the wounds that will never heal, and for 'the pangs that tempt the spirit to rebel,' bringest an assuaging balm; eloquent opium!鈥�
While it is somewhat interesting to learn the path Thomas De Quincey took before his addiction to opium, I felt it could easily have been condensed. Until I got to De Quincey's actual opium use, his strange dreams and addiction, I wondered why I had found Confessions of an English Opium Eater so compelling when I first read it as an undergrad. I became intrigued again as I read further into De Quincey's account-it sometimes reminded me of Arthur Rimbaud's A Season in Hell, but I am not sure I was ever really engaged. 3.25 stars
鈥淚 ran into pagodas, and was fixed for centuries at the summit or in secret rooms: I was the idol; I was the priest; I was worshipped; I was sacrificed. I fled from the wrath of Brama through all the forests of Asia: Vishnu hated me: Seeva laid wait for me. I came suddenly upon Isis and Osiris: I had done a deed, they said, which the ibis and the crocodile trembled at. I was buried for a thousand years in stone coffins, with mummies and sphinxes, in narrow chambers at the heart of eternal pyramids. I was kissed, with cancerous kisses, by crocodiles; and laid, confounded with all unutterable slimy things, amongst reeds and Nilotic mud.鈥�
While it is somewhat interesting to learn the path Thomas De Quincey took before his addiction to opium, I felt it could easily have been condensed. Until I got to De Quincey's actual opium use, his strange dreams and addiction, I wondered why I had found Confessions of an English Opium Eater so compelling when I first read it as an undergrad. I became intrigued again as I read further into De Quincey's account-it sometimes reminded me of Arthur Rimbaud's A Season in Hell, but I am not sure I was ever really engaged. 3.25 stars
鈥淚 ran into pagodas, and was fixed for centuries at the summit or in secret rooms: I was the idol; I was the priest; I was worshipped; I was sacrificed. I fled from the wrath of Brama through all the forests of Asia: Vishnu hated me: Seeva laid wait for me. I came suddenly upon Isis and Osiris: I had done a deed, they said, which the ibis and the crocodile trembled at. I was buried for a thousand years in stone coffins, with mummies and sphinxes, in narrow chambers at the heart of eternal pyramids. I was kissed, with cancerous kisses, by crocodiles; and laid, confounded with all unutterable slimy things, amongst reeds and Nilotic mud.鈥�
May 3, 2020
If I published under my own name a book that was this bad, I鈥檇 fall through the floor for shame. With fewer than 20 pages drearily sketching the use of opium, what鈥檚 left is a mind-numbing autobiography of atrocious prose in service to pathological vanity. How does this writer get away with it?
The structure is a disaster. A footnote on one page tells about the family name Quincey; that footnote refers readers to an appendix; that appendix has yet more footnotes, all devoted to the name. Other footnotes take up over a page, and I couldn鈥檛 turn even three pages without running into a footnote of some length.
Similar discontinuity sends readers down many blind alleys. The chapter titles have nothing to do with the content, and the text in places is indexed with numbers which even break down into Roman numerals 鈥� all to make inconsequential points.
De Quincey mounts a defense in the first pages against the poet Coleridge. A fellow opium addict, Coleridge had apparently attacked De Quincey鈥檚 use of opium as being improper. This lively dustup gives the book some historical cachet, but it also reminds me of two alcoholics arguing over who鈥檚 drunk. After that, the opaque perspective yields no clue what the author was actually like.
Thickly overwritten prose flummoxes readers. The author brandishes verbose, circuitous sentences studded with Latin and Greek, the latter in its own alphabet. So esoteric is his writing that at times I simply had no idea what the author was getting at; at other times I had no idea what he just said.
More grating still is the silly affectation. The author in places addresses people and things in the second person using thee and thou, as if his puerile personal cares call for poetic license. In other places, his prodigious recollections pass off ersatz sentiment as something authentic. The tedious, self-absorbed content ultimately goes on to chronicle every aching hangnail this crazy fool ever had.
De Quincey鈥檚 main goal seems to be to twist language into a pretzel. It鈥檚 a matter of indifference to him whether he actually communicates anything to his readers. I consider as a result that readers should treat this book with a similar indifference.
The structure is a disaster. A footnote on one page tells about the family name Quincey; that footnote refers readers to an appendix; that appendix has yet more footnotes, all devoted to the name. Other footnotes take up over a page, and I couldn鈥檛 turn even three pages without running into a footnote of some length.
Similar discontinuity sends readers down many blind alleys. The chapter titles have nothing to do with the content, and the text in places is indexed with numbers which even break down into Roman numerals 鈥� all to make inconsequential points.
De Quincey mounts a defense in the first pages against the poet Coleridge. A fellow opium addict, Coleridge had apparently attacked De Quincey鈥檚 use of opium as being improper. This lively dustup gives the book some historical cachet, but it also reminds me of two alcoholics arguing over who鈥檚 drunk. After that, the opaque perspective yields no clue what the author was actually like.
Thickly overwritten prose flummoxes readers. The author brandishes verbose, circuitous sentences studded with Latin and Greek, the latter in its own alphabet. So esoteric is his writing that at times I simply had no idea what the author was getting at; at other times I had no idea what he just said.
More grating still is the silly affectation. The author in places addresses people and things in the second person using thee and thou, as if his puerile personal cares call for poetic license. In other places, his prodigious recollections pass off ersatz sentiment as something authentic. The tedious, self-absorbed content ultimately goes on to chronicle every aching hangnail this crazy fool ever had.
De Quincey鈥檚 main goal seems to be to twist language into a pretzel. It鈥檚 a matter of indifference to him whether he actually communicates anything to his readers. I consider as a result that readers should treat this book with a similar indifference.
February 8, 2022
A fascinating insight into a different life from the one I've led, so far at least.
It only seems right to read The Doors of Perception next!
Thomas de Quincey really landed on his feet when the Wordsworths moved out of, what was to become later, Dove Cottage in Grasmere and he moved in.
The book not only chronicles the opium eating, but also the social history of the times in England, before the Victorian era started, and as such is fascinating on two levels.
Recommended.
It only seems right to read The Doors of Perception next!
Thomas de Quincey really landed on his feet when the Wordsworths moved out of, what was to become later, Dove Cottage in Grasmere and he moved in.
The book not only chronicles the opium eating, but also the social history of the times in England, before the Victorian era started, and as such is fascinating on two levels.
Recommended.
May 13, 2020
鈥⑽の� 蠁伪喂谓蠈渭蔚谓慰 伪蟺慰魏伪位蠉蠁胃畏魏蔚 蟽蟿畏 蟽蟿喂纬渭萎, 萎蟿伪谓 渭喂伪 渭蔚纬维位畏 蟺蠈位畏 - 魏伪喂 维蠁慰尾伪 胃伪 鈥樜晃滴澄� - 渭喂伪 蔚蟻畏渭喂维 魏蟿喂蟻委蠅谓, 蟺慰蠀 尾慰蠉位喂伪味蔚 渭伪魏蟻喂维
螝伪喂 伪蟺慰渭伪魏蟻蠀谓蠈蟿伪谓 蟽蔚 苇谓伪 胃伪蠀渭维蟽喂慰 尾维胃慰蟼, 尾慰蠉位喂伪味蔚 渭伪魏蟻喂维 蟽蟿慰 渭蔚纬伪位蔚委慰, 蠂蠅蟻委蟼 蟿苇位慰蟼!
桅伪喂谓蠈蟿伪谓 蠁蟿喂伪纬渭苇谓畏 伪蟺慰 未喂伪渭维谓蟿喂伪 魏伪喂 蠂蟻蠀蟽蠈.
螠蔚 伪位伪尾维蟽蟿蟻喂谓慰蠀蟼 胃蠈位慰蠀蟼 魏伪喂 伪蟽畏渭苇谓喂蔚蟼 蟽蟿苇纬蔚蟼.
螝伪喂 位伪渭蟺慰魏慰蟺慰蠉蟽蔚 伪蟺慰 蟺蔚味慰蠉位喂 蟽蔚 蟺蔚味慰蠉位喂, 蠄畏位维.
螒谓蠀蠄蠅渭苇谓畏 蔚未蠋, 苇位伪渭蟺伪谓 纬伪位萎谓喂伪 蟺蔚蟻委蟺蟿蔚蟻伪 蟽蔚 蠁蟻慰谓蟿喂蟽渭苇谓慰蠀蟼 未蟻蠈渭慰蠀蟼 蔚魏蔚委 蟺蔚蟻喂蟽蟿慰喂蠂委味慰谓蟿伪谓 蟺蠉蟻纬慰喂.
螠蔚 蔚蟺维位尉蔚喂蟼 蟺慰蠀 蟽蟿喂蟼 伪蔚喂魏委谓畏蟿蔚蟼 蟺蟻慰蟽蠈蠄蔚喂蟼 蟿慰蠀蟼 伪魏慰蠀渭蟺慰蠉蟽伪谓 维蟽蟿蟻伪 - 螝维胃蔚 蔚委未慰蠀蟼 蟺蔚蟿蟻维未喂伪!
螠蔚 纬萎喂谓畏 蠁蠀蟽喂魏蠈蟿畏蟿伪 萎蟿伪谓 蠁蟿喂伪纬渭苇谓慰 蟿慰 伪蟺慰蟿苇位蔚蟽渭伪.
螤维谓蠅 蟽蟿畏 蟽魏慰蟿蔚喂谓萎 渭维味伪 蟿畏蟼 胃蠉蔚位位伪蟼.
螤慰蠀 蟿蠋蟻伪 苇蠂蔚喂 纬伪位畏谓苇蠄蔚喂 蟺维谓蠅 蟿慰蠀蟼 魏伪喂 蟺维谓蠅 蟽蟿慰蠀蟼 胃蠈位慰蠀蟼.
螝伪喂 蟽蟿伪 蠁伪蟻维纬纬喂伪 魏伪喂 蟽蟿喂蟼 尾慰蠀谓慰魏慰蟻蠁苇蟼.
螣喂 伪蟿渭慰委 蔚委蠂伪谓 伪蟺慰蟽蠀蟻胃蔚委- 蟽蟿伪渭伪蟿蠋谓蟿伪蟼 蔚魏蔚委.
螝维蟿蠅 伪蟺慰 蟿慰 尾伪胃蠀纬维位伪谓慰 慰蠀蟻伪谓蠈.鈥�
螣喂 蔚尉慰渭慰位慰纬萎蟽蔚喂蟼 蟿慰蠀 螁纬纬位慰蠀 慰蟺喂慰渭伪谓慰蠉蟼 蟺蟻慰蠁伪谓蠋蟼
魏伪喂 渭蟺慰蟻慰蠉谓 谓伪 渭慰喂蟻伪蟽蟿慰蠉谓 渭蔚 维位位慰蠀蟼 谓伪蟻魏慰渭伪谓蔚委蟼 蟿慰蠀 魏伪喂蟻慰蠉 蟿慰蠀 萎 蟿畏蟼 未喂魏萎蟼 渭伪蟼 蔚蟺慰蠂萎蟼 蟿畏谓 喂未喂慰蟽蠀纬魏蟻伪蟽委伪 蟿慰蠀 蟺蔚蟻喂胃蠅蟻喂伪魏慰蠉, 蟿慰蠀 蔚胃喂蟽渭苇谓慰蠀, 魏伪喂 蔚尉伪胃位喂蠅渭苇谓慰蠀 蠂蟻萎蟽蟿畏 蟺慰蠀 伪谓伪味畏蟿维 维蟺位畏蟽蟿伪 魏伪喂 蟺伪蟻伪谓慰蠆魏维 蟿慰 伪纬纬蔚位喂魏蠈 未畏位畏蟿萎蟻喂慰 蟿畏蟼 谓喂蟻尾维谓伪蟼 蟿慰蠀.
螤蟻喂谓 伪蟺慰 蔚谓维渭喂蟽畏 伪喂蠋谓伪 苇纬蟻伪蠄蔚 慰 螡蟿蔚 螝慰蠀委谓蟽喂 蟿喂蟼 蔚尉慰渭慰位慰纬萎蟽蔚喂蟼 魏伪喂 蟺伪蟻鈥櫸课晃� 蟺慰蠀 慰喂 蟽蠀谓胃萎魏蔚蟼 萎蟿伪谓
纬蔚谓喂魏维 魏伪喂 蔚喂未喂魏维 未喂伪蠁慰蟻蔚蟿喂魏苇蟼 伪蟺慰 蟿喂蟼 蟿蠅蟻喂谓苇蟼
未蔚谓 苇蟺伪蠄蔚 谓伪 味蠅纬蟻伪蠁委味蔚喂 渭蔚 蟿畏谓 魏伪蟿伪谓蠈畏蟽畏 蟿畏蟼 蟽蠀渭蟺蠈谓慰喂伪蟼 魏伪喂 蟿畏谓 渭伪蟿伪喂慰未慰尉委伪 蟿蠅谓
蟺蠀蟻蔚蟿喂魏蠋谓 慰谓蔚委蟻蠅谓, 蟽魏畏谓苇蟼 伪苇谓伪畏蟼 魏委谓畏蟽畏蟼
魏伪喂 尾蟻蠈渭伪蟼, 魏伪蟿伪胃位喂蟺蟿喂魏苇蟼 伪谓胃蟻蠋蟺喂谓蔚蟼 蠁喂纬慰蠉蟻蔚蟼, 蔚尉伪胃位喂蠅渭苇谓蔚蟼 魏伪喂 尉蔚蟺蔚蟽渭苇谓蔚蟼 蟽蔚 渭喂伪 魏蠈位伪蟽畏 蟺慰蠀 蟺伪蟻慰蠀蟽委伪味蔚 蟿慰谓 蠂伪渭苇谓慰 蟺伪蟻维未蔚喂蟽慰 伪位畏胃喂谓蠈 魏伪喂 伪谓蔚谓蟿蠈蟺喂蟽蟿慰 蟺伪蟻维位位畏位伪, 伪魏伪蟿维蟽蠂蔚蟿蔚蟼 蟽魏畏谓苇蟼 蠀蟺慰伪谓维蟺蟿蠀魏蟿畏蟼 渭慰位蠀蟽渭苇谓畏蟼 魏伪喂 伪蟺慰魏伪渭蠅渭苇谓畏蟼 蔚蟺喂尾委蠅蟽畏蟼.
危蠅蟻蔚委伪 渭蔚 蟽蠀渭蟺蟿蠋渭伪蟿伪 伪蟺慰渭蠈谓蠅蟽畏蟼 魏伪喂 尾伪蟽伪谓喂蟽蟿畏蟻委蠅谓, 蠂蟻萎蟽蟿蔚蟼 蔚胃喂蟽渭苇谓慰喂 蟽蔚 渭伪魏维蟻喂伪 伪蟺维胃蔚喂伪 魏伪喂 伪蠀蟿慰魏伪蟿伪蟽蟿蟻慰蠁喂魏萎 尾喂伪喂蠈蟿畏蟿伪.
危蟿慰苇蟼 渭蔚 蠁伪谓蟿伪蟽喂伪魏萎 蠁蟻委魏畏 萎 蟺蟻伪纬渭伪蟿喂魏苇蟼 伪纬慰蟻苇蟼 谓蠅胃蟻蠈蟿畏蟿伪蟼 魏伪喂 伪蟺蔚位蟺喂蟽委伪蟼.
螆渭蟺慰蟻慰喂 蟿畏蟼 渭慰渭蠁萎蟼 魏维胃蔚 伪谓胃蟻蠋蟺喂谓畏蟼 味蠅蟿喂魏萎蟼 蔚谓苇蟻纬蔚喂伪蟼, 伪畏未委伪, 伪谓伪尉喂慰蟺蟻苇蟺蔚喂伪, 蟺蠈谓慰蟼, 伪蟺慰渭蠈谓蠅蟽畏, 蟺蔚委谓伪, 魏蟻蠉慰, 苇位位蔚喂蠄畏 蟽蟿苇纬畏蟼 魏伪喂 蟺位畏胃蠋蟻伪 魏喂谓未蠉谓蠅谓 蟺伪谓蟿蠈蟼 蔚委未慰蠀蟼.
螌蟺慰喂慰蟼 蟺蔚蟻喂渭苇谓蔚喂 谓伪 尾蟻蔚喂 蟺伪蟻伪位位畏位喂蟽渭慰蠉蟼 蟽蟿畏谓 伪蠁萎纬畏蟽畏 蟿慰蠀 螡蟿蔚 螝慰蠀委谓蟽喂 渭蔚 蟿畏 蠁蠉蟽畏 蟿蠅谓 谓伪蟻魏慰渭伪谓蠋谓 魏伪喂 蟿蠅谓 蔚渭蟺蔚喂蟻喂蠋谓 蟿慰蠀蟼 蟺位伪喂蟽喂蠅渭苇谓蠅谓 伪蟺慰 蟽蟿慰喂蠂蔚委伪 喂伪蟿蟻喂魏慰蠉 魏伪喂 伪蟽蟿蠀谓慰渭喂魏慰蠉 未蔚位蟿委慰蠀 蔚谓畏渭苇蟻蠅蟽畏蟼, 胃伪 蔚魏蟺位伪纬蔚委, 未喂蠈蟿喂 胃伪 苇蠂蔚喂 蠂维蟽蔚喂 蟿慰 谓蠈畏渭伪 蟿慰蠀 尾喂尾位委慰蠀.
螣 螡蟿蔚 螝慰蠀委谓蟽喂 未蔚谓 苇蠂蔚喂 蠅蟼 蟽蠀纬纬蟻伪蠁喂魏萎 蟺蟻慰蟿蔚蟻伪喂蠈蟿畏蟿伪 蟿慰蠀 谓伪 魏伪蟿伪位慰纬委蟽蔚喂 畏胃喂魏苇蟼 胃维位伪蟽蟽蔚蟼 伪蟺伪尉委蠅蟽畏蟼 魏伪喂 伪蟻谓萎蟽蔚喂蟼 渭蔚蟿维 尾未蔚位蠀纬渭委伪蟼 蟽蔚 魏维胃蔚 渭慰蟻蠁萎 蠄蠀蠂喂魏萎蟼 魏伪喂 蔚纬魏蔚蠁伪位喂魏萎蟼 蟺伪蟻伪委蟽胃畏蟽畏蟼.
螣 螁纬纬位慰蟼 慰蟺喂慰渭伪谓萎蟼 蔚渭尾伪胃蠉谓蔚喂 渭蔚 蟿畏谓 纬蟻伪蠁萎 蟿慰蠀 蟽蟿慰蠀蟼 渭畏蠂伪谓喂蟽渭慰蠉蟼 蟿畏蟼 蠁伪谓蟿伪蟽委伪蟼 魏伪喂 蟿畏蟼 蟿蟻慰渭慰魏蟻伪蟿委伪蟼 蟿蠅谓 伪喂蟽胃萎蟽蔚蠅谓 魏伪喂 蟿蠅谓 伪蟺慰位伪蠉蟽蔚蠅谓.
危蔚 苇谓伪 魏伪蠁魏喂魏蠈 蟺蔚蟻喂尾维位位慰谓 伪蟿渭慰蟽蠁伪喂蟻喂魏慰蠉 蠄蠀蠂伪谓伪纬魏伪蟽渭慰蠉 蔚谓蟿蔚委谓蔚喂 蟿喂蟼 蟽魏苇蠄蔚喂蟼 蟿慰蠀
蟽蟿畏谓 伪喂蟽胃畏蟿喂魏萎 蟺伪蟻伪渭蠈蟻蠁蠅蟽畏 魏伪喂 蟿畏谓 慰谓蔚喂蟻喂魏萎 伪蟺慰蟽伪蠁萎谓喂蟽畏 蟿慰蠀 蠄蠀蠂慰位慰纬喂魏慰蠉 蟺伪蟻蔚位胃蠈谓蟿慰蟼.
螉蟽蠅蟼 畏 蠄蠀蠂慰位慰纬喂魏萎 魏伪蟿伪蟺委蔚蟽畏 蟺慰蠀 尾委蠅蟽蔚 伪蟺慰 蟺伪喂未维魏喂
谓伪 蟿慰蠀 蔚蟺苇蠁蔚蟻蔚 苇谓伪 蠂蟻蠈谓喂慰 蟺维胃慰蟼 伪纬蠅谓委伪蟼,
渭喂伪 渭伪谓委伪 蟺蔚蟻喂蠁蟻蠈谓畏蟽畏蟼 蟿慰蠀 蔚伪蠀蟿慰蠉 蟿慰蠀,
苇谓伪谓 蠁蠈尾慰 伪蟺慰蟿蠀蠂委伪蟼, 位伪谓胃伪蟽渭苇谓蔚蟼 蔚蟺喂位慰纬苇蟼, 蠂蠅蟻喂蟽渭慰蠉蟼, 伪蟺慰魏位蔚喂蟽渭慰蠉蟼, 魏伪喂 伪蟿蔚位蔚委蠅蟿畏 蟺喂魏蟻委伪 蟽蔚 蟽蠀谓未蠀伪蟽渭蠈 渭蔚 蟿喂蟼 蟽蟿蔚蟻萎蟽蔚喂蟼 魏伪喂 蟿慰 维纬蠂慰蟼 伪蟺苇尾畏蟽伪谓 渭慰喂蟻伪委伪 慰喂 伪喂蟿委蔚蟼 纬喂伪 蟿畏谓 慰未蠀谓畏蟻萎 纬伪蟽蟿蟻喂魏萎 伪蟻蟻蠋蟽蟿蔚喂伪 蟿慰蠀.
螒蠀蟿萎 畏 伪蟻蟻蠋蟽蟿蔚喂伪 蟿慰蠀 蟽蠋渭伪蟿慰蟼 蟿慰谓 伪谓维纬魏伪蟽蔚 蔚蟺喂 渭喂伪 未蔚魏伪蔚蟿委伪 谓伪 蟺委谓蔚喂 蟿慰 蠈蟺喂慰 蠅蟼 蟺伪蠀蟽委蟺慰谓慰 魏伪喂 谓伪 纬蔚渭委蟽蔚喂 蟿慰 渭蠀伪位蠈 蟿慰蠀 魏伪喂 蟿畏谓 蠄蠀蠂喂魏萎 蟿慰蠀 维尾蠀蟽蟽慰 渭蔚 蠄蠀蠂蔚未蔚位喂魏苇蟼 蔚谓慰蟻维蟽蔚喂蟼, 魏伪喂 蔚蟺喂尾位畏蟿喂魏苇蟼, 蟽蟺畏位伪喂蠋未蔚喂蟼 魏蠀蟻喂伪蟻蠂委蔚蟼 慰谓蔚委蟻蠅谓 渭苇蟽伪 蟽蟿慰谓 蠂伪渭苇谓慰 蔚伪蠀蟿蠈 蟿慰蠀.
螚 慰渭委蠂位畏 蟿畏蟼 伪谓慰渭慰位蠈纬畏蟿畏蟼 蔚谓慰蠂萎蟼 蠀蟺蔚蟻苇蠂蔚喂 蟿畏蟼 蔚胃喂蟽蟿喂魏萎蟼 渭伪谓委伪蟼 纬喂伪 伪蟺慰位伪蠀蟽蟿喂魏苇蟼 蟺伪蟻伪喂蟽胃萎蟽蔚喂蟼.
螠苇蟽伪 蟽蟿喂蟼 蔚尉慰渭慰位慰纬萎蟽蔚喂蟼 蟿慰蠀 慰 螡蟿蔚 螝慰蠀委谓蟽喂 伪谓伪蠁苇蟻蔚喂 蟿畏谓 伪蟺慰蠂蠋蟻畏蟽畏 蟿慰蠀 伪蟺慰 蟿慰 蟽蠂慰位蔚委慰, 蟿喂蟼 蟺蔚蟻喂蟺位伪谓萎蟽蔚喂蟼 蟿慰蠀 蟽蟿畏谓 螣蠀伪位委伪 蠅蟼 尾伪蟽伪谓喂蟽渭苇谓慰蟼 蟺蔚蟻喂蟺伪蟿畏蟿萎蟼.
韦慰 伪蟺蔚位蟺喂蟽渭苇谓慰 蟿伪尉委未喂 蟿慰蠀 蟽蟿慰 螞慰谓未委谓慰 渭蔚 蟽魏慰蟺蠈 谓伪 蔚尉慰喂魏慰谓慰渭萎蟽蔚喂 蠂蟻萎渭伪蟿伪, 畏 伪蟿蔚位蔚委蠅蟿畏 蟺蔚委谓伪 蟺慰蠀 魏蟻维蟿畏蟽蔚 渭萎谓蔚蟼 蟿慰谓 蠂蔚喂渭蠋谓伪 蟿慰蠀 1802-3, 蔚谓蠋 蟺蔚蟻委渭蔚谓蔚 魏维蟺慰喂蔚蟼 蟺蟻慰魏伪蟿伪尾慰位苇蟼 未伪谓蔚喂蟽蟿蠋谓 魏伪喂 畏 蠁喂位委伪 蟿慰蠀 渭蔚 蟿畏谓 未蔚魏伪蟺蔚谓蟿维蠂蟻慰谓畏 蟺蠈蟻谓畏 螁谓谓伪 蟺慰蠀 魏伪蟿伪蟺蠈谓畏蟽蔚 蟿畏谓 魏伪蟻未喂维 蟿慰蠀 魏伪喂 蟽蟿喂纬渭维蟿喂蟽蔚 蟺伪谓蟿慰蟿喂谓维 蟿慰 蟺蔚蟺蟻蠅渭苇谓慰 蟿慰蠀.
螣位伪 伪蠀蟿维 魏伪喂 维蟺蔚喂蟻伪 维位位伪 蟺蔚蟻喂纬蟻维蠁慰谓蟿伪喂 魏伪喂 蠀蟺慰谓慰慰蠉谓蟿伪喂 渭蔚 渭蔚蟿伪尉苇谓喂蔚蟼 蠂蔚喂蟻慰谓慰渭委蔚蟼 伪蠁萎纬畏蟽畏蟼
魏伪喂 尾伪胃蠉 渭伪蠉蟻慰 尾蔚位慰蠉未喂谓慰 蟽魏慰蟿维未喂 伪未喂伪魏蟻喂蟽委伪蟼 魏伪喂 胃伪蠀渭伪蟽渭慰蠉.
螠喂伪 蟽蟿慰喂蠂蔚喂蠅渭苇谓畏 蠁伪谓蟿伪蟽委伪 蟺慰蠀 蟺蔚蟻喂蟺位伪谓喂苇蟿伪喂
蟿畏谓 伪蠀纬萎 蟽蔚 魏慰喂位维未蔚蟼 蟺伪喂未喂魏蠋谓 渭谓畏渭维蟿蠅谓
渭蔚 蔚位蟺委未蔚蟼 位畏蟽渭慰谓喂维蟼 纬喂伪 蠈位蔚蟼 蟿喂蟼 蟺伪位喂苇蟼 胃位委蠄蔚喂蟼 蟿慰蠀 魏蠈蟽渭慰蠀.
螤慰位蠉蟿喂渭畏 渭谓萎渭畏 蟺慰蠀 蟺蟻慰蟽蟺伪胃蔚委 谓伪 尉蔚蟺位蠉谓蔚喂 蟿畏谓 渭谓畏蟽喂魏伪魏委伪, 苇谓伪蟼 蟿蟻蠈蟺慰蟼 纬蟻伪蠁萎蟼 蟽伪谓 谓伪 蟽魏蔚蠁蟿蠈蟿伪谓 未蠀谓伪蟿维 伪魏慰位慰蠀胃慰蠉蟽蔚 蟿慰 渭蠀伪位蠈 蟿慰蠀.
韦伪 蟺慰蟻委蟽渭伪蟿伪 魏伪喂 慰喂 胃蔚蠅蟻委蔚蟼 蟿慰蠀 蟺蟻慰魏伪位慰蠉谓 蟿苇蟿慰喂慰谓 委位喂纬纬慰 蟽蟿慰谓 伪谓伪纬谓蠋蟽蟿畏 蟺慰蠀 尾喂蠋谓蔚喂 渭喂伪 蟽蠀纬魏位慰谓喂蟽蟿喂魏萎 未喂萎纬畏蟽畏 渭蔚 伪魏伪蟿维蟺伪蠀蟽蟿慰 蔚谓未喂伪蠁苇蟻慰谓, 蠋蟽蟿蔚 渭蠈谓慰 蟽蟿慰 蟿苇位慰蟼, 蠈蟿伪谓 胃蔚位萎蟽蔚喂蟼 谓伪 蟽蠀谓慰蠄委蟽蔚喂蟼 萎 谓伪 蟽蠂慰位喂维蟽蔚喂蟼 伪蠀蟿维 蟺慰蠀 未喂维尾伪蟽蔚蟼 魏伪喂 蟽蔚 蟽蠀谓蔚蟺萎蟻伪谓 慰蟻渭畏蟿喂魏维, 伪谓蟿喂位伪渭尾维谓蔚蟽伪喂 蟺蠅蟼 蔚委蠂伪谓 蔚渭蠁伪谓萎 苇位位蔚喂蠄畏 蟽蠀谓慰蠂萎蟼
萎 位慰纬喂魏萎蟼.
螠喂伪 未喂魏伪喂慰位慰纬畏渭苇谓畏 蠂慰位蠅渭苇谓畏 蔚渭蟺维胃蔚喂伪 位蠈纬蠅 魏伪魏慰渭蔚蟿伪蠂蔚委蟻喂蟽畏蟼 萎 伪未喂魏委伪蟼 蟿慰蠀 委未喂慰蠀 魏伪喂 蟿蠅谓 伪纬伪蟺畏渭苇谓蠅谓 蟿慰蠀 蟺蟻慰蟽蠋蟺蠅谓 蠁伪谓蔚蟻蠋谓蔚喂 蟿畏谓 胃蔚位魏蟿喂魏萎 蟺位蔚蠀蟻维 蟿慰蠀 蟽蠀纬纬蟻伪蠁苇伪 ( 蟺蟻慰蟽蠅蟺喂魏萎 伪蟺慰蠄畏).
芦 螚 渭慰蠂胃畏蟻委伪 未蔚谓 蟺蟻慰苇蟻蠂蔚蟿伪喂 蟺维谓蟿慰蟿蔚 伪蟺慰 蟿畏谓 魏伪蟻未喂维. 违蟺维蟻蠂蔚喂 魏伪喂 渭喂伪 渭慰蠂胃畏蟻委伪 蟺慰蠀 蟺蟻慰苇蟻蠂蔚蟿伪喂 伪蟺慰 蟿畏 未喂维谓慰喂伪 魏伪喂 蟿畏 蠁伪谓蟿伪蟽委伪禄.
螚 渭慰蠂胃畏蟻委伪 蟿慰蠀 未畏渭喂慰蠀蟻纬慰蠉 蔚未蠋 蔚委谓伪喂 伪渭喂纬蠋蟼 伪蟺蠈蟻蟻慰喂伪 蠁伪谓蟿伪蟽委蠅蟽畏蟼 蟺伪蟻维 伪谓蠈胃蔚蠀蟿畏 慰蠀蟽委伪 谓伪蟻魏蠅蟿喂魏蠋谓 蠂蟿蠉蟺蠅谓 蟿畏蟼 渭伪纬蔚渭苇谓畏蟼 魏伪蟻未喂维蟼 蟿慰蠀.
馃挏馃挓馃
螝伪位萎 伪谓维纬谓蠅蟽畏.
螤慰位位慰蠉蟼 伪蟽蟺伪蟽渭慰蠉蟼.
螝伪喂 伪蟺慰渭伪魏蟻蠀谓蠈蟿伪谓 蟽蔚 苇谓伪 胃伪蠀渭维蟽喂慰 尾维胃慰蟼, 尾慰蠉位喂伪味蔚 渭伪魏蟻喂维 蟽蟿慰 渭蔚纬伪位蔚委慰, 蠂蠅蟻委蟼 蟿苇位慰蟼!
桅伪喂谓蠈蟿伪谓 蠁蟿喂伪纬渭苇谓畏 伪蟺慰 未喂伪渭维谓蟿喂伪 魏伪喂 蠂蟻蠀蟽蠈.
螠蔚 伪位伪尾维蟽蟿蟻喂谓慰蠀蟼 胃蠈位慰蠀蟼 魏伪喂 伪蟽畏渭苇谓喂蔚蟼 蟽蟿苇纬蔚蟼.
螝伪喂 位伪渭蟺慰魏慰蟺慰蠉蟽蔚 伪蟺慰 蟺蔚味慰蠉位喂 蟽蔚 蟺蔚味慰蠉位喂, 蠄畏位维.
螒谓蠀蠄蠅渭苇谓畏 蔚未蠋, 苇位伪渭蟺伪谓 纬伪位萎谓喂伪 蟺蔚蟻委蟺蟿蔚蟻伪 蟽蔚 蠁蟻慰谓蟿喂蟽渭苇谓慰蠀蟼 未蟻蠈渭慰蠀蟼 蔚魏蔚委 蟺蔚蟻喂蟽蟿慰喂蠂委味慰谓蟿伪谓 蟺蠉蟻纬慰喂.
螠蔚 蔚蟺维位尉蔚喂蟼 蟺慰蠀 蟽蟿喂蟼 伪蔚喂魏委谓畏蟿蔚蟼 蟺蟻慰蟽蠈蠄蔚喂蟼 蟿慰蠀蟼 伪魏慰蠀渭蟺慰蠉蟽伪谓 维蟽蟿蟻伪 - 螝维胃蔚 蔚委未慰蠀蟼 蟺蔚蟿蟻维未喂伪!
螠蔚 纬萎喂谓畏 蠁蠀蟽喂魏蠈蟿畏蟿伪 萎蟿伪谓 蠁蟿喂伪纬渭苇谓慰 蟿慰 伪蟺慰蟿苇位蔚蟽渭伪.
螤维谓蠅 蟽蟿畏 蟽魏慰蟿蔚喂谓萎 渭维味伪 蟿畏蟼 胃蠉蔚位位伪蟼.
螤慰蠀 蟿蠋蟻伪 苇蠂蔚喂 纬伪位畏谓苇蠄蔚喂 蟺维谓蠅 蟿慰蠀蟼 魏伪喂 蟺维谓蠅 蟽蟿慰蠀蟼 胃蠈位慰蠀蟼.
螝伪喂 蟽蟿伪 蠁伪蟻维纬纬喂伪 魏伪喂 蟽蟿喂蟼 尾慰蠀谓慰魏慰蟻蠁苇蟼.
螣喂 伪蟿渭慰委 蔚委蠂伪谓 伪蟺慰蟽蠀蟻胃蔚委- 蟽蟿伪渭伪蟿蠋谓蟿伪蟼 蔚魏蔚委.
螝维蟿蠅 伪蟺慰 蟿慰 尾伪胃蠀纬维位伪谓慰 慰蠀蟻伪谓蠈.鈥�
螣喂 蔚尉慰渭慰位慰纬萎蟽蔚喂蟼 蟿慰蠀 螁纬纬位慰蠀 慰蟺喂慰渭伪谓慰蠉蟼 蟺蟻慰蠁伪谓蠋蟼
魏伪喂 渭蟺慰蟻慰蠉谓 谓伪 渭慰喂蟻伪蟽蟿慰蠉谓 渭蔚 维位位慰蠀蟼 谓伪蟻魏慰渭伪谓蔚委蟼 蟿慰蠀 魏伪喂蟻慰蠉 蟿慰蠀 萎 蟿畏蟼 未喂魏萎蟼 渭伪蟼 蔚蟺慰蠂萎蟼 蟿畏谓 喂未喂慰蟽蠀纬魏蟻伪蟽委伪 蟿慰蠀 蟺蔚蟻喂胃蠅蟻喂伪魏慰蠉, 蟿慰蠀 蔚胃喂蟽渭苇谓慰蠀, 魏伪喂 蔚尉伪胃位喂蠅渭苇谓慰蠀 蠂蟻萎蟽蟿畏 蟺慰蠀 伪谓伪味畏蟿维 维蟺位畏蟽蟿伪 魏伪喂 蟺伪蟻伪谓慰蠆魏维 蟿慰 伪纬纬蔚位喂魏蠈 未畏位畏蟿萎蟻喂慰 蟿畏蟼 谓喂蟻尾维谓伪蟼 蟿慰蠀.
螤蟻喂谓 伪蟺慰 蔚谓维渭喂蟽畏 伪喂蠋谓伪 苇纬蟻伪蠄蔚 慰 螡蟿蔚 螝慰蠀委谓蟽喂 蟿喂蟼 蔚尉慰渭慰位慰纬萎蟽蔚喂蟼 魏伪喂 蟺伪蟻鈥櫸课晃� 蟺慰蠀 慰喂 蟽蠀谓胃萎魏蔚蟼 萎蟿伪谓
纬蔚谓喂魏维 魏伪喂 蔚喂未喂魏维 未喂伪蠁慰蟻蔚蟿喂魏苇蟼 伪蟺慰 蟿喂蟼 蟿蠅蟻喂谓苇蟼
未蔚谓 苇蟺伪蠄蔚 谓伪 味蠅纬蟻伪蠁委味蔚喂 渭蔚 蟿畏谓 魏伪蟿伪谓蠈畏蟽畏 蟿畏蟼 蟽蠀渭蟺蠈谓慰喂伪蟼 魏伪喂 蟿畏谓 渭伪蟿伪喂慰未慰尉委伪 蟿蠅谓
蟺蠀蟻蔚蟿喂魏蠋谓 慰谓蔚委蟻蠅谓, 蟽魏畏谓苇蟼 伪苇谓伪畏蟼 魏委谓畏蟽畏蟼
魏伪喂 尾蟻蠈渭伪蟼, 魏伪蟿伪胃位喂蟺蟿喂魏苇蟼 伪谓胃蟻蠋蟺喂谓蔚蟼 蠁喂纬慰蠉蟻蔚蟼, 蔚尉伪胃位喂蠅渭苇谓蔚蟼 魏伪喂 尉蔚蟺蔚蟽渭苇谓蔚蟼 蟽蔚 渭喂伪 魏蠈位伪蟽畏 蟺慰蠀 蟺伪蟻慰蠀蟽委伪味蔚 蟿慰谓 蠂伪渭苇谓慰 蟺伪蟻维未蔚喂蟽慰 伪位畏胃喂谓蠈 魏伪喂 伪谓蔚谓蟿蠈蟺喂蟽蟿慰 蟺伪蟻维位位畏位伪, 伪魏伪蟿维蟽蠂蔚蟿蔚蟼 蟽魏畏谓苇蟼 蠀蟺慰伪谓维蟺蟿蠀魏蟿畏蟼 渭慰位蠀蟽渭苇谓畏蟼 魏伪喂 伪蟺慰魏伪渭蠅渭苇谓畏蟼 蔚蟺喂尾委蠅蟽畏蟼.
危蠅蟻蔚委伪 渭蔚 蟽蠀渭蟺蟿蠋渭伪蟿伪 伪蟺慰渭蠈谓蠅蟽畏蟼 魏伪喂 尾伪蟽伪谓喂蟽蟿畏蟻委蠅谓, 蠂蟻萎蟽蟿蔚蟼 蔚胃喂蟽渭苇谓慰喂 蟽蔚 渭伪魏维蟻喂伪 伪蟺维胃蔚喂伪 魏伪喂 伪蠀蟿慰魏伪蟿伪蟽蟿蟻慰蠁喂魏萎 尾喂伪喂蠈蟿畏蟿伪.
危蟿慰苇蟼 渭蔚 蠁伪谓蟿伪蟽喂伪魏萎 蠁蟻委魏畏 萎 蟺蟻伪纬渭伪蟿喂魏苇蟼 伪纬慰蟻苇蟼 谓蠅胃蟻蠈蟿畏蟿伪蟼 魏伪喂 伪蟺蔚位蟺喂蟽委伪蟼.
螆渭蟺慰蟻慰喂 蟿畏蟼 渭慰渭蠁萎蟼 魏维胃蔚 伪谓胃蟻蠋蟺喂谓畏蟼 味蠅蟿喂魏萎蟼 蔚谓苇蟻纬蔚喂伪蟼, 伪畏未委伪, 伪谓伪尉喂慰蟺蟻苇蟺蔚喂伪, 蟺蠈谓慰蟼, 伪蟺慰渭蠈谓蠅蟽畏, 蟺蔚委谓伪, 魏蟻蠉慰, 苇位位蔚喂蠄畏 蟽蟿苇纬畏蟼 魏伪喂 蟺位畏胃蠋蟻伪 魏喂谓未蠉谓蠅谓 蟺伪谓蟿蠈蟼 蔚委未慰蠀蟼.
螌蟺慰喂慰蟼 蟺蔚蟻喂渭苇谓蔚喂 谓伪 尾蟻蔚喂 蟺伪蟻伪位位畏位喂蟽渭慰蠉蟼 蟽蟿畏谓 伪蠁萎纬畏蟽畏 蟿慰蠀 螡蟿蔚 螝慰蠀委谓蟽喂 渭蔚 蟿畏 蠁蠉蟽畏 蟿蠅谓 谓伪蟻魏慰渭伪谓蠋谓 魏伪喂 蟿蠅谓 蔚渭蟺蔚喂蟻喂蠋谓 蟿慰蠀蟼 蟺位伪喂蟽喂蠅渭苇谓蠅谓 伪蟺慰 蟽蟿慰喂蠂蔚委伪 喂伪蟿蟻喂魏慰蠉 魏伪喂 伪蟽蟿蠀谓慰渭喂魏慰蠉 未蔚位蟿委慰蠀 蔚谓畏渭苇蟻蠅蟽畏蟼, 胃伪 蔚魏蟺位伪纬蔚委, 未喂蠈蟿喂 胃伪 苇蠂蔚喂 蠂维蟽蔚喂 蟿慰 谓蠈畏渭伪 蟿慰蠀 尾喂尾位委慰蠀.
螣 螡蟿蔚 螝慰蠀委谓蟽喂 未蔚谓 苇蠂蔚喂 蠅蟼 蟽蠀纬纬蟻伪蠁喂魏萎 蟺蟻慰蟿蔚蟻伪喂蠈蟿畏蟿伪 蟿慰蠀 谓伪 魏伪蟿伪位慰纬委蟽蔚喂 畏胃喂魏苇蟼 胃维位伪蟽蟽蔚蟼 伪蟺伪尉委蠅蟽畏蟼 魏伪喂 伪蟻谓萎蟽蔚喂蟼 渭蔚蟿维 尾未蔚位蠀纬渭委伪蟼 蟽蔚 魏维胃蔚 渭慰蟻蠁萎 蠄蠀蠂喂魏萎蟼 魏伪喂 蔚纬魏蔚蠁伪位喂魏萎蟼 蟺伪蟻伪委蟽胃畏蟽畏蟼.
螣 螁纬纬位慰蟼 慰蟺喂慰渭伪谓萎蟼 蔚渭尾伪胃蠉谓蔚喂 渭蔚 蟿畏谓 纬蟻伪蠁萎 蟿慰蠀 蟽蟿慰蠀蟼 渭畏蠂伪谓喂蟽渭慰蠉蟼 蟿畏蟼 蠁伪谓蟿伪蟽委伪蟼 魏伪喂 蟿畏蟼 蟿蟻慰渭慰魏蟻伪蟿委伪蟼 蟿蠅谓 伪喂蟽胃萎蟽蔚蠅谓 魏伪喂 蟿蠅谓 伪蟺慰位伪蠉蟽蔚蠅谓.
危蔚 苇谓伪 魏伪蠁魏喂魏蠈 蟺蔚蟻喂尾维位位慰谓 伪蟿渭慰蟽蠁伪喂蟻喂魏慰蠉 蠄蠀蠂伪谓伪纬魏伪蟽渭慰蠉 蔚谓蟿蔚委谓蔚喂 蟿喂蟼 蟽魏苇蠄蔚喂蟼 蟿慰蠀
蟽蟿畏谓 伪喂蟽胃畏蟿喂魏萎 蟺伪蟻伪渭蠈蟻蠁蠅蟽畏 魏伪喂 蟿畏谓 慰谓蔚喂蟻喂魏萎 伪蟺慰蟽伪蠁萎谓喂蟽畏 蟿慰蠀 蠄蠀蠂慰位慰纬喂魏慰蠉 蟺伪蟻蔚位胃蠈谓蟿慰蟼.
螉蟽蠅蟼 畏 蠄蠀蠂慰位慰纬喂魏萎 魏伪蟿伪蟺委蔚蟽畏 蟺慰蠀 尾委蠅蟽蔚 伪蟺慰 蟺伪喂未维魏喂
谓伪 蟿慰蠀 蔚蟺苇蠁蔚蟻蔚 苇谓伪 蠂蟻蠈谓喂慰 蟺维胃慰蟼 伪纬蠅谓委伪蟼,
渭喂伪 渭伪谓委伪 蟺蔚蟻喂蠁蟻蠈谓畏蟽畏蟼 蟿慰蠀 蔚伪蠀蟿慰蠉 蟿慰蠀,
苇谓伪谓 蠁蠈尾慰 伪蟺慰蟿蠀蠂委伪蟼, 位伪谓胃伪蟽渭苇谓蔚蟼 蔚蟺喂位慰纬苇蟼, 蠂蠅蟻喂蟽渭慰蠉蟼, 伪蟺慰魏位蔚喂蟽渭慰蠉蟼, 魏伪喂 伪蟿蔚位蔚委蠅蟿畏 蟺喂魏蟻委伪 蟽蔚 蟽蠀谓未蠀伪蟽渭蠈 渭蔚 蟿喂蟼 蟽蟿蔚蟻萎蟽蔚喂蟼 魏伪喂 蟿慰 维纬蠂慰蟼 伪蟺苇尾畏蟽伪谓 渭慰喂蟻伪委伪 慰喂 伪喂蟿委蔚蟼 纬喂伪 蟿畏谓 慰未蠀谓畏蟻萎 纬伪蟽蟿蟻喂魏萎 伪蟻蟻蠋蟽蟿蔚喂伪 蟿慰蠀.
螒蠀蟿萎 畏 伪蟻蟻蠋蟽蟿蔚喂伪 蟿慰蠀 蟽蠋渭伪蟿慰蟼 蟿慰谓 伪谓维纬魏伪蟽蔚 蔚蟺喂 渭喂伪 未蔚魏伪蔚蟿委伪 谓伪 蟺委谓蔚喂 蟿慰 蠈蟺喂慰 蠅蟼 蟺伪蠀蟽委蟺慰谓慰 魏伪喂 谓伪 纬蔚渭委蟽蔚喂 蟿慰 渭蠀伪位蠈 蟿慰蠀 魏伪喂 蟿畏谓 蠄蠀蠂喂魏萎 蟿慰蠀 维尾蠀蟽蟽慰 渭蔚 蠄蠀蠂蔚未蔚位喂魏苇蟼 蔚谓慰蟻维蟽蔚喂蟼, 魏伪喂 蔚蟺喂尾位畏蟿喂魏苇蟼, 蟽蟺畏位伪喂蠋未蔚喂蟼 魏蠀蟻喂伪蟻蠂委蔚蟼 慰谓蔚委蟻蠅谓 渭苇蟽伪 蟽蟿慰谓 蠂伪渭苇谓慰 蔚伪蠀蟿蠈 蟿慰蠀.
螚 慰渭委蠂位畏 蟿畏蟼 伪谓慰渭慰位蠈纬畏蟿畏蟼 蔚谓慰蠂萎蟼 蠀蟺蔚蟻苇蠂蔚喂 蟿畏蟼 蔚胃喂蟽蟿喂魏萎蟼 渭伪谓委伪蟼 纬喂伪 伪蟺慰位伪蠀蟽蟿喂魏苇蟼 蟺伪蟻伪喂蟽胃萎蟽蔚喂蟼.
螠苇蟽伪 蟽蟿喂蟼 蔚尉慰渭慰位慰纬萎蟽蔚喂蟼 蟿慰蠀 慰 螡蟿蔚 螝慰蠀委谓蟽喂 伪谓伪蠁苇蟻蔚喂 蟿畏谓 伪蟺慰蠂蠋蟻畏蟽畏 蟿慰蠀 伪蟺慰 蟿慰 蟽蠂慰位蔚委慰, 蟿喂蟼 蟺蔚蟻喂蟺位伪谓萎蟽蔚喂蟼 蟿慰蠀 蟽蟿畏谓 螣蠀伪位委伪 蠅蟼 尾伪蟽伪谓喂蟽渭苇谓慰蟼 蟺蔚蟻喂蟺伪蟿畏蟿萎蟼.
韦慰 伪蟺蔚位蟺喂蟽渭苇谓慰 蟿伪尉委未喂 蟿慰蠀 蟽蟿慰 螞慰谓未委谓慰 渭蔚 蟽魏慰蟺蠈 谓伪 蔚尉慰喂魏慰谓慰渭萎蟽蔚喂 蠂蟻萎渭伪蟿伪, 畏 伪蟿蔚位蔚委蠅蟿畏 蟺蔚委谓伪 蟺慰蠀 魏蟻维蟿畏蟽蔚 渭萎谓蔚蟼 蟿慰谓 蠂蔚喂渭蠋谓伪 蟿慰蠀 1802-3, 蔚谓蠋 蟺蔚蟻委渭蔚谓蔚 魏维蟺慰喂蔚蟼 蟺蟻慰魏伪蟿伪尾慰位苇蟼 未伪谓蔚喂蟽蟿蠋谓 魏伪喂 畏 蠁喂位委伪 蟿慰蠀 渭蔚 蟿畏谓 未蔚魏伪蟺蔚谓蟿维蠂蟻慰谓畏 蟺蠈蟻谓畏 螁谓谓伪 蟺慰蠀 魏伪蟿伪蟺蠈谓畏蟽蔚 蟿畏谓 魏伪蟻未喂维 蟿慰蠀 魏伪喂 蟽蟿喂纬渭维蟿喂蟽蔚 蟺伪谓蟿慰蟿喂谓维 蟿慰 蟺蔚蟺蟻蠅渭苇谓慰 蟿慰蠀.
螣位伪 伪蠀蟿维 魏伪喂 维蟺蔚喂蟻伪 维位位伪 蟺蔚蟻喂纬蟻维蠁慰谓蟿伪喂 魏伪喂 蠀蟺慰谓慰慰蠉谓蟿伪喂 渭蔚 渭蔚蟿伪尉苇谓喂蔚蟼 蠂蔚喂蟻慰谓慰渭委蔚蟼 伪蠁萎纬畏蟽畏蟼
魏伪喂 尾伪胃蠉 渭伪蠉蟻慰 尾蔚位慰蠉未喂谓慰 蟽魏慰蟿维未喂 伪未喂伪魏蟻喂蟽委伪蟼 魏伪喂 胃伪蠀渭伪蟽渭慰蠉.
螠喂伪 蟽蟿慰喂蠂蔚喂蠅渭苇谓畏 蠁伪谓蟿伪蟽委伪 蟺慰蠀 蟺蔚蟻喂蟺位伪谓喂苇蟿伪喂
蟿畏谓 伪蠀纬萎 蟽蔚 魏慰喂位维未蔚蟼 蟺伪喂未喂魏蠋谓 渭谓畏渭维蟿蠅谓
渭蔚 蔚位蟺委未蔚蟼 位畏蟽渭慰谓喂维蟼 纬喂伪 蠈位蔚蟼 蟿喂蟼 蟺伪位喂苇蟼 胃位委蠄蔚喂蟼 蟿慰蠀 魏蠈蟽渭慰蠀.
螤慰位蠉蟿喂渭畏 渭谓萎渭畏 蟺慰蠀 蟺蟻慰蟽蟺伪胃蔚委 谓伪 尉蔚蟺位蠉谓蔚喂 蟿畏谓 渭谓畏蟽喂魏伪魏委伪, 苇谓伪蟼 蟿蟻蠈蟺慰蟼 纬蟻伪蠁萎蟼 蟽伪谓 谓伪 蟽魏蔚蠁蟿蠈蟿伪谓 未蠀谓伪蟿维 伪魏慰位慰蠀胃慰蠉蟽蔚 蟿慰 渭蠀伪位蠈 蟿慰蠀.
韦伪 蟺慰蟻委蟽渭伪蟿伪 魏伪喂 慰喂 胃蔚蠅蟻委蔚蟼 蟿慰蠀 蟺蟻慰魏伪位慰蠉谓 蟿苇蟿慰喂慰谓 委位喂纬纬慰 蟽蟿慰谓 伪谓伪纬谓蠋蟽蟿畏 蟺慰蠀 尾喂蠋谓蔚喂 渭喂伪 蟽蠀纬魏位慰谓喂蟽蟿喂魏萎 未喂萎纬畏蟽畏 渭蔚 伪魏伪蟿维蟺伪蠀蟽蟿慰 蔚谓未喂伪蠁苇蟻慰谓, 蠋蟽蟿蔚 渭蠈谓慰 蟽蟿慰 蟿苇位慰蟼, 蠈蟿伪谓 胃蔚位萎蟽蔚喂蟼 谓伪 蟽蠀谓慰蠄委蟽蔚喂蟼 萎 谓伪 蟽蠂慰位喂维蟽蔚喂蟼 伪蠀蟿维 蟺慰蠀 未喂维尾伪蟽蔚蟼 魏伪喂 蟽蔚 蟽蠀谓蔚蟺萎蟻伪谓 慰蟻渭畏蟿喂魏维, 伪谓蟿喂位伪渭尾维谓蔚蟽伪喂 蟺蠅蟼 蔚委蠂伪谓 蔚渭蠁伪谓萎 苇位位蔚喂蠄畏 蟽蠀谓慰蠂萎蟼
萎 位慰纬喂魏萎蟼.
螠喂伪 未喂魏伪喂慰位慰纬畏渭苇谓畏 蠂慰位蠅渭苇谓畏 蔚渭蟺维胃蔚喂伪 位蠈纬蠅 魏伪魏慰渭蔚蟿伪蠂蔚委蟻喂蟽畏蟼 萎 伪未喂魏委伪蟼 蟿慰蠀 委未喂慰蠀 魏伪喂 蟿蠅谓 伪纬伪蟺畏渭苇谓蠅谓 蟿慰蠀 蟺蟻慰蟽蠋蟺蠅谓 蠁伪谓蔚蟻蠋谓蔚喂 蟿畏谓 胃蔚位魏蟿喂魏萎 蟺位蔚蠀蟻维 蟿慰蠀 蟽蠀纬纬蟻伪蠁苇伪 ( 蟺蟻慰蟽蠅蟺喂魏萎 伪蟺慰蠄畏).
芦 螚 渭慰蠂胃畏蟻委伪 未蔚谓 蟺蟻慰苇蟻蠂蔚蟿伪喂 蟺维谓蟿慰蟿蔚 伪蟺慰 蟿畏谓 魏伪蟻未喂维. 违蟺维蟻蠂蔚喂 魏伪喂 渭喂伪 渭慰蠂胃畏蟻委伪 蟺慰蠀 蟺蟻慰苇蟻蠂蔚蟿伪喂 伪蟺慰 蟿畏 未喂维谓慰喂伪 魏伪喂 蟿畏 蠁伪谓蟿伪蟽委伪禄.
螚 渭慰蠂胃畏蟻委伪 蟿慰蠀 未畏渭喂慰蠀蟻纬慰蠉 蔚未蠋 蔚委谓伪喂 伪渭喂纬蠋蟼 伪蟺蠈蟻蟻慰喂伪 蠁伪谓蟿伪蟽委蠅蟽畏蟼 蟺伪蟻维 伪谓蠈胃蔚蠀蟿畏 慰蠀蟽委伪 谓伪蟻魏蠅蟿喂魏蠋谓 蠂蟿蠉蟺蠅谓 蟿畏蟼 渭伪纬蔚渭苇谓畏蟼 魏伪蟻未喂维蟼 蟿慰蠀.
馃挏馃挓馃
螝伪位萎 伪谓维纬谓蠅蟽畏.
螤慰位位慰蠉蟼 伪蟽蟺伪蟽渭慰蠉蟼.
September 26, 2017
Tedious, he uses a word "viz." about 10,000 times. Obscure and rambling, but it was written a long, long time ago.
September 12, 2023
Centoundici
There was a young man who feared odium
So he spent fifty years eating opium
His excuse was his stomach
But that was just bollocks
There was always le bicarbonate de sodium
A sinistra... / A destra...
.
January 2, 2015
"First published in 1821, it paved the way for later generations of literary drug users, from Baudelaire to Burroughs." Whee!
While this is maybe not indispensable, it's also not more than 100 pages, so it gets five stars based on its ratio of awesomeness vs. time commitment. And it is pretty awesome. De Quincey is funny and weird and literate, and the roots of all kinds of drug stories - from those quoted above to Trainspotting and, oh, A Million Little Pieces - are clearly visible.
In one of those proud yet crushing moments where you realize that thought you were so psyched about of has, as Public Enemy said, been thought before: I've always thought that people get more honest when they drink, so if that nice new friend of yours gets weirdly mean and creepy when he's drunk, you might want to think twice about inviting him to your wedding. And here's de Quincey: "Most men are disguised by sobriety; and it is when they are drinking that men display themselves in their true complexion of character."
That's from page 46, in the middle of an absolutely glorious comparison of the effects of wine and opium. One of my favorite passages because, unlike opium, I'm quite familiar with the effects of wine. "The pleasure of wine is always mounting, and tending to a crisis, after which it declines." Really, there's no sense quoting more of it; the whole two pages is great.
If you're interested in drugs, or wine, or the idea of a counter culture, or pretty writing, or the history of opium and its significant effect on the world, this is worth an afternoon.
While this is maybe not indispensable, it's also not more than 100 pages, so it gets five stars based on its ratio of awesomeness vs. time commitment. And it is pretty awesome. De Quincey is funny and weird and literate, and the roots of all kinds of drug stories - from those quoted above to Trainspotting and, oh, A Million Little Pieces - are clearly visible.
In one of those proud yet crushing moments where you realize that thought you were so psyched about of has, as Public Enemy said, been thought before: I've always thought that people get more honest when they drink, so if that nice new friend of yours gets weirdly mean and creepy when he's drunk, you might want to think twice about inviting him to your wedding. And here's de Quincey: "Most men are disguised by sobriety; and it is when they are drinking that men display themselves in their true complexion of character."
That's from page 46, in the middle of an absolutely glorious comparison of the effects of wine and opium. One of my favorite passages because, unlike opium, I'm quite familiar with the effects of wine. "The pleasure of wine is always mounting, and tending to a crisis, after which it declines." Really, there's no sense quoting more of it; the whole two pages is great.
If you're interested in drugs, or wine, or the idea of a counter culture, or pretty writing, or the history of opium and its significant effect on the world, this is worth an afternoon.
April 13, 2021
This classic of drug literature has supposedly influenced people from Baudelaire to Burroughs, so I was surprised that the autobiographical text is pretty...well: boring. The narrator tells us about his time as a teenage runaway in London, his opium habit that started with laudanum as pain medication, the pros and cons of addiction, the end. It's all renderd in slightly pompous language, which...meeh.
Still, the benefits have to be regarded in its historical context: There was a (Western) guy who portrayed and discussed drugs and addiction while walking the line between medication and hedonism, playing into ideas of heightened creativity and changed awareness, which - while now a clich茅 - back then was rather spectacular. So as a historical piece of writing, it's certainly a key text, but enjoyable it is not - at least not for this reader.
Still, the benefits have to be regarded in its historical context: There was a (Western) guy who portrayed and discussed drugs and addiction while walking the line between medication and hedonism, playing into ideas of heightened creativity and changed awareness, which - while now a clich茅 - back then was rather spectacular. So as a historical piece of writing, it's certainly a key text, but enjoyable it is not - at least not for this reader.
April 11, 2024
Thomas de Quincey writes his confessions and takes us into his confidence as he struggles to overcome his addiction. What impressed me the most was his honesty; he seems to see the addicted Thomas from a detached perspective that is insightful yet never 'preachy'. I still think this book could help addicted individuals today.
November 12, 2024
Uno dei miei film, horror e non, preferiti, 猫 Suspiria di Dario Argento. Un film con un'atmosfera cos矛 sublimemente terrifica, non ho mai veduto in vita mia. Un film che ha un che di angosciante seppur intrigante e dove la scenografia 猫 il punto di forza. Appena venni a conoscenza che tale film ed anche gli altri due della trilogia della Madri, erano stati tratti da un libro, mi fiondai subito in biblioteca per recuperare il libro in questione: Suspiria de profundis di Thomas de Quincey. Non avevo mai sentito nemmeno lo scrittore. Trovai per貌 questo libro, dove oltre a Suspiria, vi erano due avvenimenti autobiografici. Parto con Suspiria, ma arrivato a poco pi霉 della met脿, mi fermo talmente disorientato, sia dalla scrittura, molto criptica e ricca di orpelli, non che questo non mi piaccia, ma c'era qualcosa che non quadrava, anzi non riuscivo proprio a stargli dietro. Cos矛 decido di bloccare la lettura e di leggere tutti e tre i testi.
Il primo: Confessioni di un oppiomane, 猫 un testo autobiografico sull'incontro dell'autore con l'oppio, preso per caso per calmare dei dolori, per poi diventarne, quasi, dipendente. Un testo molto coinvolgente ed a tratti commovente, non per le sfumacchiate eh! XP
Il secondo: Suspiria de profundis. Ecco, lo rileggo ed ancora m'impantano. La colpa 猫 sicuramente mia che fatico a seguirlo, ma 猫 talmente affascinante e scritto talmente bene, che pare di ascoltare una musica soave ed agghiacciante allo stesso tempo. Ma quello che mi chiedevo era: ma cosa avrebbe, questo libro, da accumunarsi con i film di Dario Argento? La risposta l'ho avuta con l'ultima parte e mi si 猫 aperto un mondo di terrificanti rivelazioni.
Il terzo ed ultimo testo: La diligenza inglese, dove l'autore continua con le sue esplorazioni nei fumi dell'oppio, con protagonista, appunto, una diligenza.
Ostico quanto affascinante, prolisso quanto inebriante, altero quanto sublime, questo libro mi ha fatto penare e non poco, forse per la mia poca conoscenza pregressa sul periodo e sull'argomento, forse per la spessa aura di deliri dati dall'oppio all'autore, forse semplicemente perch猫 questo libro andrebbe letto in una serata di fine Ottobre in una dimora abbandonata, magari un castello sperduto, dove l'unica luce 猫 quella tenue della Luna e dove l'unico rumore, l'unica distrazione, 猫 la natura pi霉 ancestrale e sinistra e dove i sogni, i deliri e le rappresentazioni di de Quincey prenderebbero ancora pi霉 forma, magari facendomi saltare dalla poltrona?
Da rileggere per carpirne meglio i messaggi pi霉 reconditi.
Il primo: Confessioni di un oppiomane, 猫 un testo autobiografico sull'incontro dell'autore con l'oppio, preso per caso per calmare dei dolori, per poi diventarne, quasi, dipendente. Un testo molto coinvolgente ed a tratti commovente, non per le sfumacchiate eh! XP
Il secondo: Suspiria de profundis. Ecco, lo rileggo ed ancora m'impantano. La colpa 猫 sicuramente mia che fatico a seguirlo, ma 猫 talmente affascinante e scritto talmente bene, che pare di ascoltare una musica soave ed agghiacciante allo stesso tempo. Ma quello che mi chiedevo era: ma cosa avrebbe, questo libro, da accumunarsi con i film di Dario Argento? La risposta l'ho avuta con l'ultima parte e mi si 猫 aperto un mondo di terrificanti rivelazioni.
Il terzo ed ultimo testo: La diligenza inglese, dove l'autore continua con le sue esplorazioni nei fumi dell'oppio, con protagonista, appunto, una diligenza.
Ostico quanto affascinante, prolisso quanto inebriante, altero quanto sublime, questo libro mi ha fatto penare e non poco, forse per la mia poca conoscenza pregressa sul periodo e sull'argomento, forse per la spessa aura di deliri dati dall'oppio all'autore, forse semplicemente perch猫 questo libro andrebbe letto in una serata di fine Ottobre in una dimora abbandonata, magari un castello sperduto, dove l'unica luce 猫 quella tenue della Luna e dove l'unico rumore, l'unica distrazione, 猫 la natura pi霉 ancestrale e sinistra e dove i sogni, i deliri e le rappresentazioni di de Quincey prenderebbero ancora pi霉 forma, magari facendomi saltare dalla poltrona?
Da rileggere per carpirne meglio i messaggi pi霉 reconditi.
Read
May 30, 2013Thomas de Quincey started taking opium in the form of laudanum - conveniently available over the counter from all good chemists in early 19th century Britain - as pain relief. At no time was he taking his opium directly either by smoking or even eating, the title is indicative of his interest in finding the right phrase or most striking turn of words rather than the most accurate description. The downside of this search of his for the best turn of phrase is that in the second edition of his book he freely expanded sections and in doing so crossed the line from the florid to the overwritten.
He attempts to set out the positives and the negatives of his experiences with laudanum. My lasting impression was that it was overall horrific, the positive side didn't really come over terribly well. The fact of his addiction has to speak for itself. De Quincey wrote that his opium dreams where full of vivid memories of what he had read, his classical education meant that gigantic and threatening Roman armies loomed up and marched unrelentingly through his imagination. He imagines the agricultural labourer, laudanum was not just widely available at the time but also cheap, being overwhelmed by dreams of cows. Worse to imagine the dreams of the industrial labourer with their daily grind magnified in their imaginations.
The oddity of the book for me is that the drug visions sit alongside the ideal of Victorian domesticity. As expressed by de Quincey as the wife serving tea to the gathered family from a silver teapot. This is a comfortable, manageable, middle class addiction. It's a long way from the world of .
He attempts to set out the positives and the negatives of his experiences with laudanum. My lasting impression was that it was overall horrific, the positive side didn't really come over terribly well. The fact of his addiction has to speak for itself. De Quincey wrote that his opium dreams where full of vivid memories of what he had read, his classical education meant that gigantic and threatening Roman armies loomed up and marched unrelentingly through his imagination. He imagines the agricultural labourer, laudanum was not just widely available at the time but also cheap, being overwhelmed by dreams of cows. Worse to imagine the dreams of the industrial labourer with their daily grind magnified in their imaginations.
The oddity of the book for me is that the drug visions sit alongside the ideal of Victorian domesticity. As expressed by de Quincey as the wife serving tea to the gathered family from a silver teapot. This is a comfortable, manageable, middle class addiction. It's a long way from the world of .
April 11, 2018
I finally finished this! I have started reading it several times, and just couldn't get into it. But today I finished it! Hooray! As you can tell, I did not like it.
One example of a very long rambling sentence: "I do not often weep: for not only do my thoughts on subjects connected with the chief interests of man daily, nay hourly, descend a thousand fathoms 鈥渢oo deep for tears;鈥� not only does the sternness of my habits of thought present an antagonism to the feelings which prompt tears鈥攚anting of necessity to those who, being protected usually by their levity from any tendency to meditative sorrow, would by that same levity be made incapable of resisting it on any casual access of such feelings; but also, I believe that all minds which have contemplated such objects as deeply as I have done, must, for their own protection from utter despondency, have early encouraged and cherished some tranquillising belief as to the future balances and the hieroglyphic meanings of human sufferings."
I do realise it was published in 1821, and written in that period's style. No excuse! Mary Shelley published Frankenstein in 1823, and it is very readable.
I also realise that the author wrote while using opium. No excuse! Charles Dickens used opium, and he was still able to write things that made sense.
The only 'entertaining' bit was where he tells about the dreams/nightmares he had as a result of opium, and you have to get to the end of the book to read those.
If you're a fan of Thomas de Quincey, I suppose you'd enjoy this book.
If you love reading run-on sentences, you'd probably like this book.
If you're looking for a first-hand report of the pain/pleasure of opium addiction written in a readable style, this is probably not the book you're looking for.
1 Star = Yuck. I wish I hadn't wasted my time reading it.
One example of a very long rambling sentence: "I do not often weep: for not only do my thoughts on subjects connected with the chief interests of man daily, nay hourly, descend a thousand fathoms 鈥渢oo deep for tears;鈥� not only does the sternness of my habits of thought present an antagonism to the feelings which prompt tears鈥攚anting of necessity to those who, being protected usually by their levity from any tendency to meditative sorrow, would by that same levity be made incapable of resisting it on any casual access of such feelings; but also, I believe that all minds which have contemplated such objects as deeply as I have done, must, for their own protection from utter despondency, have early encouraged and cherished some tranquillising belief as to the future balances and the hieroglyphic meanings of human sufferings."
I do realise it was published in 1821, and written in that period's style. No excuse! Mary Shelley published Frankenstein in 1823, and it is very readable.
I also realise that the author wrote while using opium. No excuse! Charles Dickens used opium, and he was still able to write things that made sense.
The only 'entertaining' bit was where he tells about the dreams/nightmares he had as a result of opium, and you have to get to the end of the book to read those.
If you're a fan of Thomas de Quincey, I suppose you'd enjoy this book.
If you love reading run-on sentences, you'd probably like this book.
If you're looking for a first-hand report of the pain/pleasure of opium addiction written in a readable style, this is probably not the book you're looking for.
1 Star = Yuck. I wish I hadn't wasted my time reading it.
December 1, 2012
While researching the use of opium for my own (fictional) writings into the subject, I came across fascinating article about a fellow whose habit of collecting paraphernalia led him to become both the leading expert on them and an addict. The interview led me to the work of Dr. H.H. Kane, and Kane's analysis led me back to de Quincey, with whom I had some prior familiarity due to my literary studies.
De Quincey's writing style is precise and exacting, but he does not have that flair for storytelling which marks a fascinating diarist. Indeed, many of the most intriguing parts of his tale are those he declined to go into in great detail, and throughout one can see his struggles not so much in what he has written on the page, but in what he cannot bring himself to say. He comes to the cusp of his own suffering again and again, but to cross that threshold is to relive his greatest shame and disappointment, so he often skirts it.
No doubt this is why Dr. Kane accuses de Quincey of presenting all the beneficial sides of the drug's use, and ignoring the dangers. Yet I found myself constantly thankful that I was not in de Quincey's position, for his constant and unabated suffering seemed clear enough to me.
Indeed, when he spoke of being unable to complete his work (the promised third part of his Confessions never arrived), of the weeks or months passing by without his being perceptibly closer to completing all of the great tasks and projects he had set before himself--one does not have to be a taker of laudanum to sympathize, as being an artist of any stripe is quite enough to understand that eternal struggle.
But though some of his narrative is less than vivid, most interesting are his descriptions of opioid dreams, which visions were so influential to fantastical authors like Gogol and Lovecraft. Indeed, his vision of the 'impossible castles of the clouds' are recognizable in the writings of numerous mythos authors, who were so obsessed with the realm of dreams, especially when it bled into quotidian life.
De Quincey's writing style is precise and exacting, but he does not have that flair for storytelling which marks a fascinating diarist. Indeed, many of the most intriguing parts of his tale are those he declined to go into in great detail, and throughout one can see his struggles not so much in what he has written on the page, but in what he cannot bring himself to say. He comes to the cusp of his own suffering again and again, but to cross that threshold is to relive his greatest shame and disappointment, so he often skirts it.
No doubt this is why Dr. Kane accuses de Quincey of presenting all the beneficial sides of the drug's use, and ignoring the dangers. Yet I found myself constantly thankful that I was not in de Quincey's position, for his constant and unabated suffering seemed clear enough to me.
Indeed, when he spoke of being unable to complete his work (the promised third part of his Confessions never arrived), of the weeks or months passing by without his being perceptibly closer to completing all of the great tasks and projects he had set before himself--one does not have to be a taker of laudanum to sympathize, as being an artist of any stripe is quite enough to understand that eternal struggle.
But though some of his narrative is less than vivid, most interesting are his descriptions of opioid dreams, which visions were so influential to fantastical authors like Gogol and Lovecraft. Indeed, his vision of the 'impossible castles of the clouds' are recognizable in the writings of numerous mythos authors, who were so obsessed with the realm of dreams, especially when it bled into quotidian life.
May 21, 2019
The boy speaks Greek 鈥�
I am not overly impressed 鈥� underwhelmed may indeed be the word 鈥� by this romantic tale of the orphaned but highly intelligent boy who fell on hard times.
It is a typical piece of Confessional Writing 鈥� though it also bares a certain lack of self-awareness paired with some megalomania.
And yes, opium-eating is a nasty habit and you can invent all kind of excuses for it if you like but still it is an addiction.
TdQ is often mentioned as a forefather and source of inspiration for William S. Burroughs 鈥� Burroughs, drugged out of this world - did however manage to write quite a few memorable novels.
Once again, literary duty done.
I am not overly impressed 鈥� underwhelmed may indeed be the word 鈥� by this romantic tale of the orphaned but highly intelligent boy who fell on hard times.
It is a typical piece of Confessional Writing 鈥� though it also bares a certain lack of self-awareness paired with some megalomania.
And yes, opium-eating is a nasty habit and you can invent all kind of excuses for it if you like but still it is an addiction.
TdQ is often mentioned as a forefather and source of inspiration for William S. Burroughs 鈥� Burroughs, drugged out of this world - did however manage to write quite a few memorable novels.
Once again, literary duty done.
December 2, 2019
Konuya bir t眉rl眉 gelemeyi艧i ile hiperger莽ek莽i bir itirafname olarak takdirimi kazand谋 skfjd
May 13, 2023
鈥楥onfessions Of an Opium-Eater鈥� by Thomas De Quincey has won me. It has been a very long time since I鈥檝e read a book which speaks to my very soul & being. In spite of reading so many theosophical & theological books over the years, no book has really invigorated me so clearly & perfectly as this infamous masterpiece of classic literature.
And no, this book really has nothing to do with promoting drug addiction, quite the opposite rather!
In this book, a juvenile prodigy in Greek scholarship attempts to break free from the stranglehold of his guardians & grammar school. He does so under very unfortunate circumstances which leads him to a life of pain incurred because of the culminating effects of ego hassles, poverty & of course a chronic addiction to opium. What becomes of this scholar later in life making him realize the severity of his drug addiction is what this book is all about.
It is not a fast read at all, but it is highly erudite & full of philosophical depth which brings out the fact that De Quincey was a most remarkable man as well as a very well-read individual of Western Philosophical thought. The latter does not come as a surprise since the individual was studying the same at his grammar school & then at his Latin college. However, it is his perfect insight into the very essence of Latin philosophy which shows signs that he was well schooled in the theories of Plato as well as Aristotle鈥檚 hylomorphism that is brought out simply & beautifully in this tiny but heavy book. Through his experience as a depressed drug addict, De Quincey simplifies what his logical hylomorphic theory of existence is & what it means for others like him who have fallen into the trap of opium addiction. The simplistic language which he uses to explain his line of thought is similar to the writings of theologians like St. Thomas Aquinas & contemporary popular philosophers of the 18th & 19th century like Immanuel Kant. I enjoyed the brief mention of Spinoza in the book as well & I鈥檓 sure the well-read sombre reader will enjoy the same too!
The terms Substantial Form & Prime Matter abound directly & indirectly in this text. This shows that the theories of Aristotle were what induced De Quincey into a more detailed study of German western thought later in life, making this book a highly pleasurable read but yet, a very frank & truthful one with regards to people鈥檚 addictions & obsessions in life. I especially felt edified by De Quincey鈥檚 views about music which to him was more meaningful in tone & subjective comprehension rather than in actual objective content. This is a good example to the working of substantial form & prime matter in the mind of a human being made of up of soul & body. I also appreciated his view that to a real intellectual, even romantic love holds no water as a panacea of life. Instead, to observe with quiet reflection the leisure or rest of the poor & downtrodden is something that truly gives relief to a restless soul. It is indeed such observations or actual service to the needy, even if it is merely in the form of a listening ear that can truly give an anxious individual rest & true refreshment; there De Quincey trumps pompousness, pride, thoughts, feelings, emotions et al., as the real philosopher knows, we are more than our thoughts, intelligence, emotions, desires, passions, obsessions & feelings!
We are more than our addictions, even if it is opium addiction!
However, De Quincey tends to be too obsessed with his racist ideas towards Asians which may not go down well with some readers. Yet, it is not something disturbing knowing that the man was a bookworm all his life & never travelled at all due to his addiction to actually learn about different cultures & sensibilities other than his own. Plus, he was so engrained in Western philosophy that probably he could not digest the more broad minded, inclusive & adaptable Eastern Philosophy which is not very unusual to observe among most Europeans of that time. Orientalism was still only developing as a science when this book was being penned. It should not be an issue which should stop the reader from appreciating the excellence of the book.
The ending of the book is painful to read but is a perfect analysis in the line of Kant on the meaning of suffering. At the end of the day, drugs do not take away suffering from life, suffering is more a part of being alive than even love & lust. Thinking that drugs can cure a person of physical & psychological suffering is foolhardiness at its best. Whether De Quincey goes on with his life, gives up his addiction to opium, dies in his guilt or progresses in his vocation as a writer of letters is what one can find out by reading this book SLOWLY & with a calm mind. If one as a reader is in a mood of speed reading then this classic is not meant for you. The title & theme may seem enticing but gory details of a drug addict are not the details of this otherwise excellent & unputdownable classic. Those who take their reading slow & seriously can pick up this book. Those adept readers of philosophy, theology, logic, ethics et al., will find this title a light read & enjoy every moment of it.
I especially loved the episode with the Malay individual who the author happened upon at his cottage. I鈥檝e never read of something that astounding in all my life & I鈥檓 sure every reader will be surprised by what effect the visit of that South-East Asian individual had on De Quincey when they indulge themselves in the reading of 鈥楥onfessions of an English Opium Eater鈥�. This book is not at all to encourage a vulnerable reader into taking drugs, instead, quite the opposite as I have mentioned before!
I have never indulged in drugs, alcohol, tobacco or any kind of stimulant other than South-Indian coffee & cutting chai or tea. Therefore, I vouch for the inquisitive reader that my review & five stars for this book is not because I applaud drug addiction but because I find a lot of truth, relevance, theological depth & intellectual matter in the tongue in cheek reasoning of De Quincey towards the power that a person鈥檚 sense of guilt & ego has over his life which leads to the taking of such toxic substances. Do yourself a favour & read this book & then know that obviously, the author is indicating that you should say NO TO DRUGS!
I really enjoyed this book & more so because I read the original first edition of the title as published by Dover Thrift Edition Classics (Year 1995). Make sure you too read the first edition or reprint of the first edition rather because reprints of later editions can be found in plenty & they are not so well written as the first. It leads many readers to think that the book is unworthy of its fame, which is unfortunate, because it is the best thing one could read from a very unusual man of letters. 鈥楥onfessions of an English Opium Eater鈥� gets 5 stars from me!
And no, this book really has nothing to do with promoting drug addiction, quite the opposite rather!
In this book, a juvenile prodigy in Greek scholarship attempts to break free from the stranglehold of his guardians & grammar school. He does so under very unfortunate circumstances which leads him to a life of pain incurred because of the culminating effects of ego hassles, poverty & of course a chronic addiction to opium. What becomes of this scholar later in life making him realize the severity of his drug addiction is what this book is all about.
It is not a fast read at all, but it is highly erudite & full of philosophical depth which brings out the fact that De Quincey was a most remarkable man as well as a very well-read individual of Western Philosophical thought. The latter does not come as a surprise since the individual was studying the same at his grammar school & then at his Latin college. However, it is his perfect insight into the very essence of Latin philosophy which shows signs that he was well schooled in the theories of Plato as well as Aristotle鈥檚 hylomorphism that is brought out simply & beautifully in this tiny but heavy book. Through his experience as a depressed drug addict, De Quincey simplifies what his logical hylomorphic theory of existence is & what it means for others like him who have fallen into the trap of opium addiction. The simplistic language which he uses to explain his line of thought is similar to the writings of theologians like St. Thomas Aquinas & contemporary popular philosophers of the 18th & 19th century like Immanuel Kant. I enjoyed the brief mention of Spinoza in the book as well & I鈥檓 sure the well-read sombre reader will enjoy the same too!
The terms Substantial Form & Prime Matter abound directly & indirectly in this text. This shows that the theories of Aristotle were what induced De Quincey into a more detailed study of German western thought later in life, making this book a highly pleasurable read but yet, a very frank & truthful one with regards to people鈥檚 addictions & obsessions in life. I especially felt edified by De Quincey鈥檚 views about music which to him was more meaningful in tone & subjective comprehension rather than in actual objective content. This is a good example to the working of substantial form & prime matter in the mind of a human being made of up of soul & body. I also appreciated his view that to a real intellectual, even romantic love holds no water as a panacea of life. Instead, to observe with quiet reflection the leisure or rest of the poor & downtrodden is something that truly gives relief to a restless soul. It is indeed such observations or actual service to the needy, even if it is merely in the form of a listening ear that can truly give an anxious individual rest & true refreshment; there De Quincey trumps pompousness, pride, thoughts, feelings, emotions et al., as the real philosopher knows, we are more than our thoughts, intelligence, emotions, desires, passions, obsessions & feelings!
We are more than our addictions, even if it is opium addiction!
However, De Quincey tends to be too obsessed with his racist ideas towards Asians which may not go down well with some readers. Yet, it is not something disturbing knowing that the man was a bookworm all his life & never travelled at all due to his addiction to actually learn about different cultures & sensibilities other than his own. Plus, he was so engrained in Western philosophy that probably he could not digest the more broad minded, inclusive & adaptable Eastern Philosophy which is not very unusual to observe among most Europeans of that time. Orientalism was still only developing as a science when this book was being penned. It should not be an issue which should stop the reader from appreciating the excellence of the book.
The ending of the book is painful to read but is a perfect analysis in the line of Kant on the meaning of suffering. At the end of the day, drugs do not take away suffering from life, suffering is more a part of being alive than even love & lust. Thinking that drugs can cure a person of physical & psychological suffering is foolhardiness at its best. Whether De Quincey goes on with his life, gives up his addiction to opium, dies in his guilt or progresses in his vocation as a writer of letters is what one can find out by reading this book SLOWLY & with a calm mind. If one as a reader is in a mood of speed reading then this classic is not meant for you. The title & theme may seem enticing but gory details of a drug addict are not the details of this otherwise excellent & unputdownable classic. Those who take their reading slow & seriously can pick up this book. Those adept readers of philosophy, theology, logic, ethics et al., will find this title a light read & enjoy every moment of it.
I especially loved the episode with the Malay individual who the author happened upon at his cottage. I鈥檝e never read of something that astounding in all my life & I鈥檓 sure every reader will be surprised by what effect the visit of that South-East Asian individual had on De Quincey when they indulge themselves in the reading of 鈥楥onfessions of an English Opium Eater鈥�. This book is not at all to encourage a vulnerable reader into taking drugs, instead, quite the opposite as I have mentioned before!
I have never indulged in drugs, alcohol, tobacco or any kind of stimulant other than South-Indian coffee & cutting chai or tea. Therefore, I vouch for the inquisitive reader that my review & five stars for this book is not because I applaud drug addiction but because I find a lot of truth, relevance, theological depth & intellectual matter in the tongue in cheek reasoning of De Quincey towards the power that a person鈥檚 sense of guilt & ego has over his life which leads to the taking of such toxic substances. Do yourself a favour & read this book & then know that obviously, the author is indicating that you should say NO TO DRUGS!
I really enjoyed this book & more so because I read the original first edition of the title as published by Dover Thrift Edition Classics (Year 1995). Make sure you too read the first edition or reprint of the first edition rather because reprints of later editions can be found in plenty & they are not so well written as the first. It leads many readers to think that the book is unworthy of its fame, which is unfortunate, because it is the best thing one could read from a very unusual man of letters. 鈥楥onfessions of an English Opium Eater鈥� gets 5 stars from me!
March 10, 2020
Es臈 before it was cool!!!!
Juokauju, jau buvo cool, para拧yta jau po Montaigne'io ir Bacono ir dar turb奴t kr奴vos j懦 pasek臈j懦. Bet still!
Pasi臈miau i拧 bibl臈s visai nieko nesitik臈dama - tik nor臈jau paskaityti Repe膷kos vertim膮 (vis dar neskai膷iau jo Shakespeare'o, pazzzzorrrr), nor臈jau doz臈s ka啪ko ankstyvesnio nei 21 a reikalai. Doz臋 gavau.
Tekstas trumpas, skaitosi labai greitai. Para拧ytas gra啪iai ir vietomis taip u啪ne拧a tuo i拧kilmingu patosu, kreipiniais: Skaitytojau! Labai intertekstualus, pilnas poezijos - Miltono, Wordswortho; labai gerai i拧l寞sti i拧 savo skaitymo burbulo ir pagalvoti, kad ne viskas, k膮 verta skaityti, buvo para拧yta 20 a. 膶ia juokais, bet kartais gerokai u啪sisuki tarp "naujovi懦" ir i拧eina ma啪daug: nem臈gstu a拧 t懦 sen懦 film懦 (apie 1973 m. film膮).
骋谤补啪耻:
See! Ne Laurence'as Sterne'as, nu bet gra啪u, darrrrk, romantika, griuv臈siai.
Repe膷kos vertimas, sp臈ju, labai pagerina tekst膮, jau vien jo i拧verstos poezijos eilut臈s - geruma (Wordsworthas):
Traktat臈lyje De Quincey'is papasakoja, kaip vartojo opij懦 paauglyst臈j, ankstyvoj jaunyst臈j, kaip v臈l persimet臈 ant vartojimo dar po belekiek met懦. Pasakoja apie sapnus, apie skausmus, apie nemalon懦 jausm膮 skrandyje, kai bandai mesti. Po skaitymo man net prad臈jo durti skrand寞!!! Nors opijaus band啪ius nesu ir t懦 reklamuojam懦 privalum懦 nepatyriau. O 拧iaip tekstas keistokas, pilnas skyli懦. Apie t膮 jis nepasakos, nes mums b奴t懦 nuobodu, apie lig膮 kalb臈t u啪knisa, apie susipykim膮 su draugais nepasakos - 拧iaip, ka啪kod臈l. Kartais kreipiasi 寞 啪mon膮, bet daugiau joki懦 istorij懦 apie j膮 n臈ra. Tik pam膮stymas 拧en, pam膮stymas ten. Gale pasi奴lo savo k奴n膮 - po mirties - mokslui. Nu a膷i奴!
Apskritai - neradau vientisumo (arba i拧radingai nesan膷io vientisumo), neradau ka啪kokio proto a拧trumo, kurio neva tur臈t懦 suteikti opijus, p臈dsak懦. Klasika, faina paskaityti, bet antr膮 kart膮 negr寞拧iu. B奴t懦 2*, bet.. gra啪usis vertimas!
Juokauju, jau buvo cool, para拧yta jau po Montaigne'io ir Bacono ir dar turb奴t kr奴vos j懦 pasek臈j懦. Bet still!
Pasi臈miau i拧 bibl臈s visai nieko nesitik臈dama - tik nor臈jau paskaityti Repe膷kos vertim膮 (vis dar neskai膷iau jo Shakespeare'o, pazzzzorrrr), nor臈jau doz臈s ka啪ko ankstyvesnio nei 21 a reikalai. Doz臋 gavau.
Tekstas trumpas, skaitosi labai greitai. Para拧ytas gra啪iai ir vietomis taip u啪ne拧a tuo i拧kilmingu patosu, kreipiniais: Skaitytojau! Labai intertekstualus, pilnas poezijos - Miltono, Wordswortho; labai gerai i拧l寞sti i拧 savo skaitymo burbulo ir pagalvoti, kad ne viskas, k膮 verta skaityti, buvo para拧yta 20 a. 膶ia juokais, bet kartais gerokai u啪sisuki tarp "naujovi懦" ir i拧eina ma啪daug: nem臈gstu a拧 t懦 sen懦 film懦 (apie 1973 m. film膮).
骋谤补啪耻:
Ta膷iau Londono labdaryb臈s srautas, nors ir kokia gilia, pla膷ia vaga teka, yra begarsis ir po啪eminis - tod臈l nei regimas, nei prieinamas varg拧ams benamiams klajokliams. (p. 47)
Kart膮 viena artima giminait臈 man papasakojo, kaip vaikyst臈je 寞krito 寞 up臋 ir atsid奴rusi ties pa膷ia pra啪奴ties riba - laim臈, pagalbos ji sulauk臈 pa膷iu laiku - akimirksniu i拧vydo vis膮 savo gyvenim膮: smulkiausios detal臈s i拧sirikiavo viena greta kitos lyg atspind臈tos veidrody. Ir staiga ji 寞gijo geb臈jim膮 tuo pat metu suvokti tiek visum膮, tiek kiekvien膮 jos dalel臋. Tuo, remdamasis savo, kaip opijaus vartotojo, patirtimi tikrai tikiu. Esu dukart aptik臋s pana拧i懦 tvirtinim懦 拧iuolaikin臈se knygose ir j懦 teisingumu neabejoju: juos ai拧kinan膷iose pastabose teigiama, jog 拧iurpusis paskutiniojo teismo apra拧ymas 艩ventajame Ra拧te - ne kas kita, kaip kiekvieno i拧 m奴s懦 s膮mon臈s atspindys. Esu tikras bent tuo, kad i拧 proto visi拧kai atimta galimyb臈 辫补尘颈谤拧迟颈: t奴kstan膷iai 寞vyki懦 gali sudaryti ir sudaro 拧奴d膮, skiriant寞 m奴s懦 dabartin臋 s膮mon臋 nuo slapt懦 寞ra拧懦 prote, bet lygiai tokie patys 寞vykiai t膮 拧yd膮 ir supl臈拧o, ta膷iau nesvarbu ar dengiami, ar nedengiami 拧ydo, 拧ie 寞ra拧ai i拧lieka am啪inai, jie tarytum 啪vaig啪d臈s, kurios, atrodo, pranyksta nu拧vitus dienos 拧viesai, nors i拧 ties懦 mes 啪inome, kad 拧viesa - tik jas u啪deng臋s 拧ydas, ir 啪vaig啪d臈s telaukia, kol, jas pasl臈pusiai dienos 拧viesai pasitraukus, v臈l gal臈s pasirodyti. (p. 144-145)
See! Ne Laurence'as Sterne'as, nu bet gra啪u, darrrrk, romantika, griuv臈siai.
Repe膷kos vertimas, sp臈ju, labai pagerina tekst膮, jau vien jo i拧verstos poezijos eilut臈s - geruma (Wordsworthas):
Akimirksniu i拧kilo reginys -
Didingas miestas, pastat懦 gausyb臈,
Paskendus toliuos, galo n臈r,
艩io nuostabiausio gro啪io toli懦 toliai!
Jie sukurti i拧 deimant懦, i拧 aukso,
J懦 alebastro kupolai, sidabro smail臈s,
Ir 啪臈rin膷ios terasos vir拧 teras懦,
Ore pakibusios, ir tyk奴s paviljonai,
Al臈jose suspind臋, ant vir拧奴ni懦 bok拧t懦,
Dantytom sienom apjuost懦, plevena
Skais膷iausios puo拧menos - i拧kil臋 啪vaig啪d臈s!
Gamta m奴s 啪em臈s visa tai suk奴r臈
I拧 audinio tamsios audros, kuri膮 ramyb臈
艩tai k膮 tik 寞veik臈, tad sl臈niai,
Vir拧ukaln臈s ir 寞lankos, r奴kams i拧tirpus,
Po 啪ydryne dangaus lai ilsis... (p. 149)
Traktat臈lyje De Quincey'is papasakoja, kaip vartojo opij懦 paauglyst臈j, ankstyvoj jaunyst臈j, kaip v臈l persimet臈 ant vartojimo dar po belekiek met懦. Pasakoja apie sapnus, apie skausmus, apie nemalon懦 jausm膮 skrandyje, kai bandai mesti. Po skaitymo man net prad臈jo durti skrand寞!!! Nors opijaus band啪ius nesu ir t懦 reklamuojam懦 privalum懦 nepatyriau. O 拧iaip tekstas keistokas, pilnas skyli懦. Apie t膮 jis nepasakos, nes mums b奴t懦 nuobodu, apie lig膮 kalb臈t u啪knisa, apie susipykim膮 su draugais nepasakos - 拧iaip, ka啪kod臈l. Kartais kreipiasi 寞 啪mon膮, bet daugiau joki懦 istorij懦 apie j膮 n臈ra. Tik pam膮stymas 拧en, pam膮stymas ten. Gale pasi奴lo savo k奴n膮 - po mirties - mokslui. Nu a膷i奴!
Apskritai - neradau vientisumo (arba i拧radingai nesan膷io vientisumo), neradau ka啪kokio proto a拧trumo, kurio neva tur臈t懦 suteikti opijus, p臈dsak懦. Klasika, faina paskaityti, bet antr膮 kart膮 negr寞拧iu. B奴t懦 2*, bet.. gra啪usis vertimas!
November 25, 2019
I was hoping to give this book a higher rating, but it is hard to review a book where most of it came from a haze of drugs taking memories.
The opioid epidemic has been with us for centuries and De Quincey was one of the first people to write about his struggles with the drug.
The opioid epidemic has been with us for centuries and De Quincey was one of the first people to write about his struggles with the drug.
April 27, 2023
I read this as de Quincey appeared as a character in Murder as a Fine Art.
Can you imagine what he would have been like if he had been at his peak in the late 60鈥檚? I was reminded at times of Fat Freddy in The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers, who one night decided to write a book. He took 鈥榓 little something鈥� to aid the imagination and another 鈥榣ittle something鈥� for creativity etc, etc鈥�
When his progress was checked on the following morning his pages just read 鈥榓nd then and then and then and then and then and then鈥�.鈥�.
That鈥檚 how some of this feels. And it鈥檚 better for it.
A rather interesting account.
Can you imagine what he would have been like if he had been at his peak in the late 60鈥檚? I was reminded at times of Fat Freddy in The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers, who one night decided to write a book. He took 鈥榓 little something鈥� to aid the imagination and another 鈥榣ittle something鈥� for creativity etc, etc鈥�
When his progress was checked on the following morning his pages just read 鈥榓nd then and then and then and then and then and then鈥�.鈥�.
That鈥檚 how some of this feels. And it鈥檚 better for it.
A rather interesting account.
February 15, 2014
I was disappointed I confess, though I don't know why I had high expectations given I have always found people on drugs profoundly boring鈥攖hough I note that usually they find themselves extremely interesting. De Quincy writes 'I have, for the general benefit of the world, innoculated myself as it were, with the poinson of 8000 drops of laudanum per day (just for the same reason as a French surgeon inoculated himself lately with cancer...)'
What struck me most was privilege, even in his poverty after running away as a teenager. After all, he heads to Eton, where he will always be at home, to get Lord so-and-so to co-sign a loan against his expected fortune from the Jews. I was sad but not surprised to find such a stereotypical view of jews as existing simply to lend money to wealthy but under-age men. A window of empathy into the lives of the poor and oppressed emerged, but he only opened the curtain a little, hardly even looked properly through it. There is disappointingly little here about London and walking its streets, which is what I expected to find given all I had read.
What I hadn't expected to find was a crazy reflection of imperial angst and racism. He's in the remote mountains in a cottage when a 'Malay' comes to the door and doesn't speak English. He contrasts 'the beautiful English face of the girl and its exquisite fairness, together with her erect and independant attitude ... with the sallow and bilious skin of the Malay...his small, fierce, restless eyes, thin lips, slavish gestures and adorations'. They can't communicate, but apparently all the man wants is somewhere to rest before he goes on his way. As a parting gift, de Quincey offers him a chunk of opium, which the man proceeds to eat entire--'the quantity was enough to kill three dragoons and their horses, and I felt some alarm for the poor creature; but what could be done?' Nothing apparently, he sends him out in the night, and is anxious for his life the next few nights but upon hearing no reports of the dead body turning up, his mind is relieved.
Except it's not. After the years of happily enjoying his regular opium habit, it eventually spirals down into pain and terrible dreams/hallucinations. These are regularly frequented by what he calls 'Oriental' dreams. He writes 'The Malay has been a fearful enemy for months. I have been every night, through his means, transported into Asiatic scenes...The causes of my horror lie deep, and some of them must be common to others. Southern Asia in general is the seat of awful images and associations.' Holy crap I thought, the inscrutable asian 'other' that he might well have murdered comes back to his dreams, takes him to the very places his opium comes from -- though that isn't thought through or even mentioned. I suppose this is before the Opium wars and Britain's great Opium-dealing adventure overseas, it prefigures it in a way. And unlike the Heart of Darkness fear of 'primitive' man (though he brings up that up as well in relation to 'barbarous' Africa), it is instead fear and trembling before an older greater culture--'the ancient, monumental, cruel and elaborate religions...The mere antiquity of Asiatic things, of their institutions, histories, modes of faith, &c., is so impressive, that to me teh vast age of the race and name overpowers the sense of youth in the individual'.
There is so much to think about there, I hope to come back to it at some time, though surely this must have been written about. The only other interesting thing, funny really, was the statement on political economists of the day: 'I saw that these were generally the very dregs and rinsings of the human intellect; and that any man of sound head...might take up the whole academy of modern economists, and throttle them between heaven and earth with his finger and thumb, or bray their fungus-headss to powder with a lady's fan'. Which I love, though I am not sure exactly how that insult works...
What struck me most was privilege, even in his poverty after running away as a teenager. After all, he heads to Eton, where he will always be at home, to get Lord so-and-so to co-sign a loan against his expected fortune from the Jews. I was sad but not surprised to find such a stereotypical view of jews as existing simply to lend money to wealthy but under-age men. A window of empathy into the lives of the poor and oppressed emerged, but he only opened the curtain a little, hardly even looked properly through it. There is disappointingly little here about London and walking its streets, which is what I expected to find given all I had read.
What I hadn't expected to find was a crazy reflection of imperial angst and racism. He's in the remote mountains in a cottage when a 'Malay' comes to the door and doesn't speak English. He contrasts 'the beautiful English face of the girl and its exquisite fairness, together with her erect and independant attitude ... with the sallow and bilious skin of the Malay...his small, fierce, restless eyes, thin lips, slavish gestures and adorations'. They can't communicate, but apparently all the man wants is somewhere to rest before he goes on his way. As a parting gift, de Quincey offers him a chunk of opium, which the man proceeds to eat entire--'the quantity was enough to kill three dragoons and their horses, and I felt some alarm for the poor creature; but what could be done?' Nothing apparently, he sends him out in the night, and is anxious for his life the next few nights but upon hearing no reports of the dead body turning up, his mind is relieved.
Except it's not. After the years of happily enjoying his regular opium habit, it eventually spirals down into pain and terrible dreams/hallucinations. These are regularly frequented by what he calls 'Oriental' dreams. He writes 'The Malay has been a fearful enemy for months. I have been every night, through his means, transported into Asiatic scenes...The causes of my horror lie deep, and some of them must be common to others. Southern Asia in general is the seat of awful images and associations.' Holy crap I thought, the inscrutable asian 'other' that he might well have murdered comes back to his dreams, takes him to the very places his opium comes from -- though that isn't thought through or even mentioned. I suppose this is before the Opium wars and Britain's great Opium-dealing adventure overseas, it prefigures it in a way. And unlike the Heart of Darkness fear of 'primitive' man (though he brings up that up as well in relation to 'barbarous' Africa), it is instead fear and trembling before an older greater culture--'the ancient, monumental, cruel and elaborate religions...The mere antiquity of Asiatic things, of their institutions, histories, modes of faith, &c., is so impressive, that to me teh vast age of the race and name overpowers the sense of youth in the individual'.
There is so much to think about there, I hope to come back to it at some time, though surely this must have been written about. The only other interesting thing, funny really, was the statement on political economists of the day: 'I saw that these were generally the very dregs and rinsings of the human intellect; and that any man of sound head...might take up the whole academy of modern economists, and throttle them between heaven and earth with his finger and thumb, or bray their fungus-headss to powder with a lady's fan'. Which I love, though I am not sure exactly how that insult works...
January 29, 2016
De葯i se vede clar tentativa de roman, cartea are mai mult nuan葲e 葯tiin葲ifice. Nu se refer膬 doar la opium 葯i la urm膬rile sale medicale, ci 葯i psihologice 葯i -respectiv- sociale. 脦ncadrarea 卯n timp 卯葯i spune 葯i ea cuv芒ntul. Cartea a fost scris膬 c芒nd "cele dou膬 r膬zboaie ale opiului" erau 卯n plin膬tatea lor. Anglia descoperise "secretul Chinei" 葯i se luase cu dansa la har葲膬. Nu vreau s膬-mi imaginez farmecul dat de aceast膬 substan葲膬 dac膬 dou膬 dintre puterile lumii moderne au dus dou膬 mari r膬zboaie pentru el. :)
June 14, 2019
毓賳賵丕賳 丕氐賱蹖 讴鬲丕亘 丕毓鬲乇丕賮丕鬲 蹖讴 鬲乇蹖丕讴 禺賵乇 丕賳诏賱蹖爻蹖 丕爻鬲 賵 卮乇丨 蹖讴 丿賴賴 丕毓鬲蹖丕丿 丿 讴賵卅蹖賳爻蹖 亘賴 鬲乇蹖丕讴. 讴鬲丕亘 賴賲 蹖讴 賲賯丕賱賴 亘賱賳丿 賲丨爻賵亘 賲蹖鈥屫促堌� 賵 賴賲 蹖讴 乇賲丕賳 丕毓鬲乇丕賮蹖貨 賴乇趩賳丿 賳鬲賵丕爻鬲賴 亘丕 丨賮馗 倬蹖趩蹖丿诏蹖鈥屬囏� 賵 賳馗乇诏丕賴鈥屬囏й� 禺丕氐 乇賲丕賳鈥屬嗁堐屫驰� 亘賴 讴賳讴丕卮 丿乇 噩賴丕賳 丿乇賵賳 匕賴賳 卮禺氐蹖鬲鈥屬囏� 亘倬乇丿丕夭丿. 賮讴乇 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁� 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 丿乇 夭賲丕賳 丕賳鬲卮丕乇卮 (1821) 丿乇 噩賴鬲 丕噩鬲賲丕毓蹖 卮丿賳 賲亘丕乇夭賴 亘丕 賲賵丕丿 賲禺丿乇 賲賵賮賯 亘賵丿賴 丕賲丕 亘毓丿 丕夭 诏匕卮鬲 丿賵 賯乇賳 丿蹖诏乇 噩匕丕亘蹖鬲 夭蹖丕丿蹖 亘乇丕蹖 禺賵丕賳賳丿賴 賳丿丕乇丿
June 8, 2021
Not really impressive but one of the first on the subject.
November 26, 2020
As one of the projects for a Public Speaking course taken during the summer after sophomore year of high school, I took up research on the then-controversial topic of psychotropic drugs in order to deliver a paper on the topic. My sources were every book I could find in the Maine South library on the subject and a number of articles found in my grandparents' copies of 'Time' and 'Life' magazines. I didn't know it at the time, but the conservative owners of Time-Life, the Luces, were themselves fans of psychedelic mushrooms and LSD. In any case, the articles about the psychedelics and about marihuana were almost entirely positive both in the scientific literature and in the popular press that I reviewed.
Consequently, I got interested in mind-altering chemicals, the safe ones, and started trying pot in the sophomore year. Nothing happened except coughing until I was given some which, unbeknownst to me, was dusted with heroin. That batch worked--tremendously. I learned what it was, but still finished the ounce I'd been given to take home before abandoning the opiates. One factor in this was reading Confessions of an English Opium-eater which vividly described both the positives and negatives of such drugs. Another factor was that it was illegal and expensive. A final, and probably most important, factor was that its effects, while orgasmically pleasurable, were trivial compared to the challenges posed by a later discovery: LSD--followed by mushrooms and peyote. Pleasure wasn't much of a draw for me, profound challenges were.
De Quincey's book is, by modern standards, over-written, his lavish descriptions growing tedious after a while.
Consequently, I got interested in mind-altering chemicals, the safe ones, and started trying pot in the sophomore year. Nothing happened except coughing until I was given some which, unbeknownst to me, was dusted with heroin. That batch worked--tremendously. I learned what it was, but still finished the ounce I'd been given to take home before abandoning the opiates. One factor in this was reading Confessions of an English Opium-eater which vividly described both the positives and negatives of such drugs. Another factor was that it was illegal and expensive. A final, and probably most important, factor was that its effects, while orgasmically pleasurable, were trivial compared to the challenges posed by a later discovery: LSD--followed by mushrooms and peyote. Pleasure wasn't much of a draw for me, profound challenges were.
De Quincey's book is, by modern standards, over-written, his lavish descriptions growing tedious after a while.
March 20, 2012
Sure, the lead-up to the actual confessions of taking opium and the resulting consequences was longer than the apparent subject matter of the book, but who cares? I found this to be an insightful text into the dangers of at the time a widely used drug.
This also apparently paved the way for many other drug substance abuse memoirs, of which the only one I can think of that I have read were Junky by Burroughs.
Confessions is written in a clear, concise manner and with the interesting subject matter can be read in a couple hours if that. Nowadays, where drug recognition, understanding and its place in society has allowed people across all levels of society to have a firm understanding of the life of drug users and their substances, this text, almost 200 years old may at times be read as slightly as a bore. I don't think that necessarily detracts from the quality and importance of the book itself though, especially since there's some pretty vivid scenes in his dream state, and the level of psychological self-analysis for the time was impressive, for one only versed in literature.
My biggest wish was that he went into further depth into the effects of prolonged opium use and dependency. Although, considering this, and many other published works at the time was taken up by a newspaper, it may have had its length restricted. That, or it may have been too vivid for print for the general public.
This also apparently paved the way for many other drug substance abuse memoirs, of which the only one I can think of that I have read were Junky by Burroughs.
Confessions is written in a clear, concise manner and with the interesting subject matter can be read in a couple hours if that. Nowadays, where drug recognition, understanding and its place in society has allowed people across all levels of society to have a firm understanding of the life of drug users and their substances, this text, almost 200 years old may at times be read as slightly as a bore. I don't think that necessarily detracts from the quality and importance of the book itself though, especially since there's some pretty vivid scenes in his dream state, and the level of psychological self-analysis for the time was impressive, for one only versed in literature.
My biggest wish was that he went into further depth into the effects of prolonged opium use and dependency. Although, considering this, and many other published works at the time was taken up by a newspaper, it may have had its length restricted. That, or it may have been too vivid for print for the general public.
February 2, 2021
For now ... my favorite section of this book was Suspiria de Profundis, but it was all quite good. Luckily, I tend to be a patient reader, willing to put in the necessary extra time to parse through De Quincey's prose style, and was rewarded. I will say that this book is not for the timid. Not at all.
July 10, 2022
A book that was a best seller when it first appeared, and which continues to find readers today. In it, De Quincey describes the dangers of opium addiction, and comments on how opium use affected his dreams. At times, these two themes work together, as when De Quincey employs the discussion of his dreams as a way of warning the reader about opium addiction; at other times, however, one or the other of the themes dominates. Thus, in a number of instances, De Quincey writes that his intent in the book is to analyze dreaming, and in particular how opium affects the dreams of a man of imagination (De Quincey is not one to indulge in false modesty). In these passages, the book is less a confession and more a work of philosophy and psychology (in her introduction to the book, Alethea Hayter notes that De Quincey preceded in hypothesizing that one鈥檚 childhood experiences supply a background against which to interpret one鈥檚 dreams).
In general, the organization of the book is loose, beginning with De Quincey describing events in his life before becoming addicted; this is followed by his description of his experience as an addict, first enjoying opium and then experiencing the symptoms of withdrawal.
Several passages stand out for me, including De Quincey鈥檚 comments on why he changed his mind about sending a letter to a bishop, and his description of how he would spend his Saturday evenings while on opium. Perhaps the best passages are those discussing his dreams and also those in which he describes his relationship with Ann, a prostitute.
The edition I have includes additional material, such as some of De Quincey鈥檚 revisions to a later edition of the work, and his responses to critics of his work; in one of these De Quincey responds to a letter wrote about him, and suggests that the poet is splitting hairs; however, De Quincey splits a hair or two himself, for instance in a comment on 鈥檚 sardonic reference to the 鈥減ond poets.鈥�
Acquired the copy I am currently using Jul 18, 2007
The Book Addict, London, Ontario
In general, the organization of the book is loose, beginning with De Quincey describing events in his life before becoming addicted; this is followed by his description of his experience as an addict, first enjoying opium and then experiencing the symptoms of withdrawal.
Several passages stand out for me, including De Quincey鈥檚 comments on why he changed his mind about sending a letter to a bishop, and his description of how he would spend his Saturday evenings while on opium. Perhaps the best passages are those discussing his dreams and also those in which he describes his relationship with Ann, a prostitute.
The edition I have includes additional material, such as some of De Quincey鈥檚 revisions to a later edition of the work, and his responses to critics of his work; in one of these De Quincey responds to a letter wrote about him, and suggests that the poet is splitting hairs; however, De Quincey splits a hair or two himself, for instance in a comment on 鈥檚 sardonic reference to the 鈥減ond poets.鈥�
Acquired the copy I am currently using Jul 18, 2007
The Book Addict, London, Ontario
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