The fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body; and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame.

In the tale proper--where there is no space for development of character or for great profusion and variety of incident--mere construction is, of course, far more imperatively demanded than in the novel.

The pioneers and missionaries of religion have been the real cause of more trouble and war than all other classes of mankind.

To elevate the soul, poetry is necessary.

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

No murmur arose from its bed, and so gently it wandered along, that the pearly pebbles upon which we loved to gaze, far down within its bosom, stirred not at all, but lay in a motionless content, each in its own old station, shining on gloriously forever.

Yet, mad am I not — and very surely do I not dream.