The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?

How much more intense is the excitement wrought in the feelings of a crowd by the contemplation of human agony, than that brought about by the most appalling spectacles of inanimate matter.

The object, Truth, or the satisfaction of the intellect, and the object, Passion, or the excitement of the heart, are, although attainable, to a certain extent, in poetry, far more readily attainable in prose.

If in many of my productions terror has been the thesis, I maintain that terror is not of Germany, but of the soul.

...the agony of my soul found vent in one loud, long and final scream of despair.

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

Many years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been wealthy; but a series of misfortunes had reduced him to want.