Nothing makes time pass more quickly or more shortens a journey than a thought which absorbs in itself all the faculties of the organisation of him who thinks. The external existence then resembles a sleep of which this thought is the dream. By its influence, time has no longer measure, space has no longer distance. We depart from one place and arrive at another – that is all. Of the interval passed through, nothing remains in the memory but a vague mist in which a thousand confuse images of trees, mountains, and landscapes are lost.
The three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas
