The Night Comes Stealing O'er

There Is No Sixth Commandment In Art. The Poet Is Entitled To Lay His Hands On Whatever Material He Finds Necessary For His Work.

Nature, Like A True Poet, Abhors Abrupt Transitions.

I Consider It A Degradation And A Stain On My Honor To Submit To Baptism In Order To Qualify Myself For State Employment In Prussia.

Literary History Is The Great Morgue Where All Seek The Dead Ones Whom They Love, Or To Whom They Are Related.

No Talent, But Yet A Character. [ger., Kein Talent, Doch Ein Charakter.]