I heed not that my earthly lot Hath - little of Earth in it - That years of love have been forgot In the hatred of a minute: - I mourn not that the desolate Are happier, sweet, than I, But that you sorrow for my fate Who am a passer by.

There was much of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited disgust.

...for her whom in life thou dids't abhor, in death thou shalt adore

In efforts to soar above our nature, we invariably fall below it.

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

To him, who still would gaze upon the glory of the summer sun, there comes, when that sun will from him part, a sullen hopelessness of heart.

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