Sometimes I’m terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.

Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,- Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

And because our reason violently deters us from the brink, therefore, do we the more impetuously approach it. There is no passion in nature so demoniacally impatient, as that of him, who shuddering upon the edge of a precipice, thus meditates a plunge. To indulge for a moment, in any attempt at thought, is to be inevitably lost; for reflection but urges us to forbear, and therefore it is, I say, that we cannot. If there be no friendly arm to check us, or if we fail in a sudden effort to prostrate ourselves backward from the abyss, we plunge, and are destroyed.

True! - nervous - very, very nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad?

I have no words alas! to tell the loveliness of loving well

The greater amount of truth is impulsively uttered; thus the greater amount is spoken, not written.

To vilify a great man is the readiest way in which a little man can himself attain greatness.