EMMANUEL'S BLOG

Give me a chance to call myself, for the present, William Wilson. That isn't my actual name. That name has just been the reason for the ghastliness – of the anger of my family. Have not the breezes conveyed my name, with my loss of respect, to the closures of the earth? Am I not always dead to the world? – To its distinctions, to its blossoms, to its brilliant expectations? What's more, a cloud, substantial and interminable – does it not always hang between my expectations and paradise? Men typically turned out to be awful by degrees. However, I let all greatness tumble from me in a single minute, as though I had dropped a coat. From little demonstrations of obscurity, I go, in one incredible advance, into the blackest malice at any point known. Tune in while I recount the one reason that got this going. Passing is close, and its coming has relaxed my soul. I want, in going through this dull valley, the comprehension of other men. I wish them to trust that I have been...