Music, when combined with a pleasurable idea, is poetry; music without the idea is simply music; the idea without the music is prose from its very definitiveness.

It is the nature of truth in general, as of some ores in particular, to be richest when most superficial.

Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.