A wonderful fact to reflect upon
?that the thing you have thought about has been considered way back ago and even expressed, much better that you will ever be able to, by the minds long gone already.
It is rather disturbing to see almost perfect reflection of your own thoughts in the retained traces of thoughts of someone now dead. And pondering and finding yourself intimately close to thoughts of someone long dead inevitably brings to mind how temporary the universe of your own thoughts is; only till power is cut out and this universe vanishes with all its accrued content.
A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it! Something of the awfulness, even of Death itself, is referable to this.
Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities.
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