Mysteries force a man to think, and so injure his health.
The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.
To HelenI saw thee once-once only-years ago;I must not say how many-but not many.It was a july midnight; and from outA full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring,Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven,There...
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream.
To vilify a great man is the readiest way in which a little man can himself attain greatness
The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.
Sleep, those little slices of death — how I loathe them.
The goodness of the true pun is in direct ratio to its intolerability
You call it hope — that fire of fire!It is but agony of desire.
…And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall be lifted–nevermore!
I was never really insane, except on occasions where my heart was touched.
For eyes we have no models in the remotely antique.