Thousands of theories, grotesque, extraordinary, profound, on the world, on man, on all problems that pertain to metaphysics have passed through my mind. I have had in me thousands of philosophies not any two of which — as if they were real — agreed. All the ideas I had if written down had been a great cheque on posterity; but by the very peculiar character of my mind, no sooner did the theory, the idea struck me that it disappeared, and after I ached to feel that one moment after I remembered nothing — absolutely nothing of what it might have been. Thus memory, as all my other faculties predisposed me to live in a dream.