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.

To die laughing must be the most glorious of all glorious deaths!

Deep in earth my love is lying And I must weep alone.

It would be mockery to call such dreariness heaven at all.

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore.

I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.

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