Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
We loved with a love that was more than love.
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?
All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.
Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.
The true genius shudders at incompleteness - and usually prefers silence to saying something which is not everything it should be.
Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence.
There are few cases in which mere popularity should be considered a proper test of merit; but the case of song-writing is, I think, one of the few.
Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term Art, I should call it 'the reproduction of what the Senses perceive in Nature through the veil of the soul.' The mere imitation, however accurate, of what is in Nature, entitles no man to the sacred name of 'Artist.'
I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of Beauty.
They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.
I have great faith in fools; self-confidence my friends call it.
If you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered.
I have no faith in human perfectability. I think that human exertion will have no appreciable effect upon humanity. Man is now only more active - not more happy - nor more wise, than he was 6000 years ago.
Stupidity is a talent for misconception.
It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.
In one case out of a hundred a point is excessively discussed because it is obscure; in the ninety-nine remaining it is obscure because it is excessively discussed.
The ninety and nine are with dreams, content but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.