And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but overacuteness of the senses?

I would define, in brief, the Poetry of words as the Rhythmical Creation of Beauty. Its sole arbiter is taste. With the intellect or with the conscience, it has only collateral relations. Unless incidentally, it has no concern whatever either with duty or with truth.

The mere imitation, however accurate, of what is in Nature, entitles no man to the sacred name of Artist

There are few cases in which mere popularity should be considered a proper test of merit; but the case of song-writing is, I think, one of the few.

Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore - Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore! Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.

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

The rain came down upon my head - Unshelter'd. And the wind rendered me mad and deaf and blind.