This fantasy goes on for an eternity. A lucid interval, and a great expenditure of effort, permit you to look at the clock. The eternity turns out to have been only a minute. There is nothing whirling and tumultuous about it. It is a calm and placid beatitude.
Every philosophical problem is resolved.
Every difficult question that presents a point of contention for theologians, and brings despair to thoughtful men, becomes clear and transparent. Every contradiction is reconciled. Man has surpassed the gods. Like a poor profligate who sucks and bites the withered breasts of some well-seasoned trull, we snatch in passing at clandestine joys and squeeze the oldest orange harder yet. Wriggling in our brains like a million worms, a demon demos holds its revels there, and when we breathe, the Lethe in our lungs trickles sighing on its secret course.