The limitations of narrowing in... / The dangers of pathological belief systems / o Diabo é a matéria nunca aflorada pela dúvida

René Magritte

A própria realidade que vemos, cega-nos. Limita-nos. Afunila a nossa consciência, percepção.

do Ópio

W. Wordsworth e S. T. Coleridge 

[…] Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between;
And flowery beds that slumbrous influence kest,
From poppies breathed; and beds of pleasant green,
Where never yet was creeping creature seen. […]

[…] I in oblivion will your sorrows steep,
 Your cares, your toils; will steep you in a sea
Of full delight: O come, ye weary wights, to me!
With me, you need not rise at early dawn,
To pass the joyless day in various stounds; […]

James Thomson, in Castle of Indolence 

"[...] What was it that did in reality make me an opium-eater? That affection which finally drove me into the habitual use of opium, what was it? Pain was it? No, but misery. Casual overcasting of sunshine was it? No, but blank desolation. Gloom was it that might have departed? No, but settled and abiding darkness. [...] Coleridge's bodily affliction was simple rheumatism. Mine, which intermittingly raged for ten years, was rheumatism in the face combined with toothache. [...] Too often the dying father could not fail to read in his own lifelong experience, that, whilst seeking special protection for his children, he might himself be introducing amongst them a separate and imminent danger." [...]
Thomas de Quincey, in Confessions of an English Opium-Eater