The only truths which are universal are those gross enough to be thought so.

What is simple is wrong, and what is complicated cannot be understood.

His heart is a desert island.... The whole scope, the whole energy of his mind surround and protect him; his depths isolate him and guard him against the truth. He flatters himself that he is entirely alone there.... Patience, dear lady. Perhaps, one day, he will discover some footprint on the sand.... What holy and happy terror, what salutary fright, once he recognizes in that pure sign of grace that his island is mysteriously inhabited!

The only truths which are universal are those gross enough to be thought so.

War: a massacre of people who don't know each other for the profit of people who know each other but don't massacre each other.

Poe is the only impeccable writer. He was never mistaken.

What one wrote playfully, another reads with tension and passion; what one wrote with tension and passion, another reads playfully.