You, I know, expect and long to become an angel after death: I am under the strange hallucination that my body is part of me, and in spite of old Plotinus, look with horror at a disembodiment till the giving of that new body, the great perfection of which, in your eyes, and those of every one else, seems to be, that it will be less, and not more of a body, than our present one.

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Is this hope, to me at once inconceivable and contradictory, palpable and valuable enough to you to send you to that Italian Avernus, to get it made a little more certain?
If so, I despair of your making your meaning intelligible to a poor fellow wallowing, like me, in the Hylic Borboros--or whatever else you may choose to call the unfortunate fact of being flesh and blood.