All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream.
Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting.
There is no beauty without some strangeness.
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
I have great faith in fools; self-confidence, my friends call it.
Believe only half of what you see and nothing that you hear.
Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.
The death of a beautiful woman is unquestionably the most poetic topic in the world.
Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence.
It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.
I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.
Every poem should remind the reader that they are mortal.
A dream within a dream, where reality and illusion intertwine.
It is a happiness to wonder; it is a happiness to dream.
The boundaries which divide life from death are at best shadowy and vague.
There is an eloquence in true enthusiasm.
All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.
We loved with a love that was more than love.
In our endeavors, we may come face to face with the darkest parts of our soul.
I remained too much inside my head and ended up losing my mind.
Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence.
I have no faith in human perfectibility.
Sleep, those little slices of death.
The boundaries between life and death are but a fleeting illusion.
The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls.
We never truly know the depths of our own darkness until we are forced to confront it.
It is the absence of light that breeds the darkest nightmares.
The true genius shudders at incompleteness.
There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.
The death of a beautiful woman is the most beautiful topic in the world.
It is a happiness to wonder; it is a happiness to dream.
We loved with a love that was more than love.
Sleep, those little slices of death.
The true genius shudders at incompleteness.
I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.
Every poem should remind the reader that they are mortal.
There is an eloquence in true enthusiasm.
The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls.
We never truly know the depths of our own darkness until we are forced to confront it.
It is the absence of light that breeds the darkest nightmares.
The death of a beautiful woman is unquestionably the most poetic topic in the world.
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
I have great faith in fools; self-confidence, my friends call it.
All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream.
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