There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man.
True, nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am, but why will say that I am mad?! The disease had haunted my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Of all the sense of hearing acute.
The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls.
The eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of sorrow.
Stupidity is a talent for misconception.
Sensations are the great things, after all. Should you ever be drowned or hung, be sure and make a note of your sensations; they will be worth to you ten guineas a sheet.
In the tale proper – where there is no space for development of character or for great profusion and variety of incident – mere construction is, of course, far more imperatively demanded than in the novel.
I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.
Even in the grave, all is not lost.
I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute.
Sleep, those little slices of death – how I loathe them.
The writer who neglects punctuation, or mispunctuates, is liable to be misunderstood for the want of merely a comma, it often occurs that an axiom appears a paradox, or that a sarcasm is converted into a sermonoid.
There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion.
No one should brave the underworld alone.
That pleasure which is at once the most pure, the most elevating and the most intense, is derived, I maintain, from the contemplation of the beautiful.
The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?
Sometimes I’m terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.
Who cares how time advances? I am drinking ale today.