Edgar Allan Poe: The Man of the Crowd
Ce grand malheur, de ne pouvoir être seul.
La Bruyère.
It was well said of a certain German book that „er lasst sich nicht lesen“ — it does not permit itself to be read. There are some secrets which do not permit themselves to be told. Men die nightly in their beds, wringing the hands of ghostly confessors, and looking them piteously in the eyes — die with despair of heart and convulsion of throat, on account of the hideousness of mysteries which will not suffer themselves to be revealed. Now and then, alas, the conscience of man takes up a burthen so heavy in horror that it can be thrown down only into the grave. And thus the essence of all crime is undivulged.
