Distressing images rise up in my mind in such rapid succession, I can't master them, but they master me.

They come slower to you, and the moment you see their shadows before you, you turn round to the light, and throw these dark figures behind you.
I can't do that; I could when I was younger, but I can't now.

Reason is comparing two ideas, and drawing an inference.

Insanity is, when you have such a rapid succession of ideas, that you can't compare them.

How great then must be the pain when you are almost pressed into insanity and yet retain your reason?
What is a broken heart?
Is it death?
I think it must be very like it, if it is not a figure of speech, for I feel that my heart is broken, and yet I am as sensitive to pain as ever.
Nature cannot stand this suffering long.