There is no exquisite beauty without some strangeness in the proportion.

Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.

I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of beauty.

"I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity."

"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream."

"We loved with a love that was more than love."

"Those 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 will call it."

"I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched."