“Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made.”

I have no faith in human perfectibility. I think that human exertion will have no appreciable effect upon humanity. Man is now only more active – not more happy – nor more wise, than he was 6000 years ago.

Invisible things are the only realities.

Leave my loneliness unbroken.

Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best have gone to their eternal rest.

Happiness is not to be found in knowledge, but in the acquisition of knowledge.

From childhood’s hour I have not been. As others were, I have not seen. As others saw, I could not awaken. My heart to joy at the same tone. And all I loved, I loved alone.

The world is a great ocean, upon which we encounter more tempestuous storms than calms.

Even in the grave, all is not lost.

There are some secrets which do not permit themselves to be told.

I have, indeed, no abhorrence of danger, except in its absolute effect – in terror.

A short story must have a single mood and every sentence must build towards it.

It is a happiness to wonder; it is a happiness to dream.

And all I loved, I loved alone.

Every poem should remind the reader that they are going to die.

Sleep, those little slices of death – how I loathe them.

Now this is the point. You fancy me a mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded.