Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.
The past is a pebble in my shoe.
Never to suffer would never to have been blessed.
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore...
Man’s real life is happy, chiefly because he is ever expecting that it soon will be so.
All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.
Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence.
Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem.
It will be found, in fact, that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the truly imaginative never otherwise than analytic.
There are some secrets which do not permit themselves to be told.
I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity.
Once upon a midnight dreary.
The rain came down upon my head – Unshelter’d. And the wind rendered me mad and deaf and blind.
The goodness of the true pun is in the direct ratio of its intolerability.
In criticism I will be bold, and as sternly, absolutely just with friend and foe. From this purpose nothing shall turn me.
I intend to put up with nothing that I can put down.
As the strong man exults in his physical ability, delighting in such exercises as call his muscles into action, so glories the analyst in that moral activity which disentangles.
I remained to much inside my head and ended up losing my mind.
I have, indeed, no abhorrence of danger, except in its absolute effect – in terror.
If you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered.