Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary.
Edgar Allan Poe
Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence.
All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.
Stupidity is a talent for misconception.
I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of Beauty.
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.
All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
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