Ay--but how do I know that they would do it?
What possible proof is there that if a two-legged phantasm pokes a hard iron-gray phantasm in among my sensations, those sensations will be my last?
Is the fact of my turning pale, and lying still, and being in a day or two converted into crows' flesh, any reason why I should not feel?
And how do I know that would happen?
It seems to happen to certain sensations of my eyeball--or something else--who cares?
which I call soldiers; but what possible analogy can there be between what seems to happen to those single sensations called soldiers, and what may or may not really happen to all my sensations put together, which I call me?
Should I bear apples if a phantasm seemed to come and plant me?
Then why should I die if another phantasm seemed to come and poke me in the ribs?
'Still I don't intend to deny it....

I am no dogmatist.

Positively the phantasms are marching straight for my tower! Well, it may be safer to run away, on the chance.

But as for losing feeling,' continued he, rising and cramming a few mouldy crusts into his wallet, 'that, like everything else, is past proof.

Why--if now, when I have some sort of excuse for fancying myself one thing in one place, I am driven mad with the number of my sensations, what will it be when I am eaten, and turned to dust, and undeniably many things in many places....