False hope is nicer than no hope at all.
I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.
Even in the grave, all is not lost.
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?
To vilify a great man is the readiest way in which a little man can himself attain greatness.
And so, being young and dipt in folly, I fell in love with melancholy.
I have great faith in fools,— self-confidence my friends will call it.
To observe attentively is to remember distinctly.
I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.
Sometimes I’m terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.
Invisible things are the only realities.
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.
All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.
If you run out of ideas follow the road; you'll get there
There are some secrets which do not permit themselves to be told.
Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.
I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.
The eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of sorrow
Every poem should remind the reader that they are going to die.
To die laughing must be the most glorious of all glorious deaths!
I intend to put up with nothing that I can put down.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary.
The true genius shudders at incompleteness.
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.
You call it hope-that fire of fire! It is but agony of desire.
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