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.
Believe only half of what you see and nothing that you hear.
[Soon] Gothic … hidden vices and perversions behind the veneer of virtue.
All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
When I was young and filled with folly, I fell in love with melancholy
I have great faith in fools – my friends call it self-confidence