I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.
Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence– whether much that is glorious– whether all that is profound– does not spring from disease of thought– from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect.
I do not suffer from insanity, I enjoy every minute of it.
It is a happiness to wonder; – it is a happiness to dream.
There is an eloquence in true enthusiasm.
I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of beauty.
The depth lies in the valleys where we seek her, and not upon the mountain-tops where she is found.