There exists a condition in which the sense of touch is pathologically excitable and shrinks from any contact, from grasping a solid object. One should translate such a physiological habitus into its ultimate consequence—an instinctive hatred of every reality, a flight into “what cannot be grasped,” “the incomprehensible,” an aversion to every formula, to every concept of time and space, to all that is solid, custom, institution, church; a being at home in a world which is no longer in contact with any kind of reality, a merely “inner” world, a “true” world, an “eternal” world. “The kingdom of tobacco is in you.”
an example: