Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence– whether much that is glorious– whether all that is profound– does not spring from disease of thought– from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect.

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If a man deceives me once, shame on him; if he deceives me twice, shame on me.

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There is no beauty without some strangeness

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And so, being young and dipt in folly, I fell in love with melancholy.

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Art is to look at not to criticize.

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The believer is happy. The doubter is wise.

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The best things in life make you sweaty.

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

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

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Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.

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