It rubs me the wrong way, like a carwash does to a person.
Madness string 1880
A wall was covered floor to roof with a bookshelf. The thought of all those static stories, trapped forever on pieces of paper, was rather dizzying.
Freedom is limited, artificial, and therefore illusory, a shared hallucination at best. No sane mortal is truly free, because true freedom is so terrible that only the mad or the divine can face it with open eyes. It overwhelms the soul.