To elevate the soul, poetry is necessary.

We had always dwelled together, beneath a tropical sun, in the Valley of the Many Colored Grass.

the truth is, I am heartily sick of this life & of the nineteenth century in general. (I am convinced that every thing is going wrong.)

By undue profundity we perplex and enfeeble thought; and it is possible to make even Venus herself vanish from the firmament by a scrutiny too sustained, too concentrated, or too direct.

Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day; or the agonies which are have their origins in ecstasies which might have been.

The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.

It may be roundly asserted that human ingenuity cannot concoct a cipher which human ingenuity cannot resolve.