And all I loved, I loved alone.

Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.

If you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered.

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

Never to suffer would never to have been blessed.

Years of love have been forgot, in the hatred of a minute.

There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion.

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

We loved with a love that was more than love.

I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.