Unhappy is he to whom the memories of childhood bring only fear and sadness.

What a man does for pay is of little significance. What he is, as a sensitive instrument responsive to the world's beauty, is everything!

I have looked upon all the universe has to hold of horror,and even the skies of spring and flowers of summer must ever afterward be poison to me.

But are not the dreams of poets and the tales of travellers notoriously false?

Ultimate horror often paralyses memory in a merciful way.

Sometimes one feels that it would be merciful to tear down these houses, for they must often dream.

The process of delving into the black abyss is to me the keenest form of fascination.