“If a poem hasn’t ripped apart your soul; you haven’t experienced poetry.”

The eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of sorrow.

Books, indeed, were his sole luxuries.

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

I dread the events of the future, not in themselves but in their results.

The ninety and nine are with dreams, content, but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.

I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity.

I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.

That man is not truly brave who is afraid either to seem or to be, when it suits him, a coward.

Books, indeed, were his sole luxuries.

The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls.

The depth lies in the valleys where we seek her, and not upon the mountain-tops where she is found.

The rudiment of verse may, possibly, be found in the spondee.

I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.

Man’s real life is happy, chiefly because he is ever expecting that it soon will be so.

I am a writer. Therefore, I am not sane.

The believer is happy. The doubter is wise.

Experience will guide us to the rules. You cannot make rules precede practical experience.

We learn from experience that men never learn anything from experience.

Experience is a truer guide than the words of others.

Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it.

I still think that the greatest suffering is being lonely, feeling unloved, just having no one. That is the worst disease that any human being can ever experience.

The marvelous richness of human experience would lose something of rewarding joy if there were no limitations to overcome.

I ain’t scared of the fall. I’ve felt the ground before.

I ain’t scared of the fall. I’ve felt the ground before.