Much Madness is divinest Sense -- To a discerning Eye -- Much Sense -- the starkest Madness -- 'Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail -- Assent -- and you are sane -- Demur -- you're straightway dangerous -- And handled with a Chain --
One need not be a chamber to be haunted; one need not be a house; the brain has corridors surpassing material place.
Life is a spell so exquisite that everything conspires to break it.
Much madness is divinest sense to a discerning eye; much sense the starkest madness. â€™T is the majority in this, as all, prevails....Much madness is divinest sense to a discerning eye; much sense the starkest madness. â€™T is the majority in this, as all, prevails. Assent, and you are sane; demur,â€”you â€™re straightway dangerous, and handled with a chain.
Success is counted sweetest by those who neâ€™er succeed. To comprehend a nectar requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple host who took the flag to-day can tell the definition, so clear, of victory, as he, defeated, dying, on whose forbidden ear the distant strains of triumph break, agonized and clear.
The only Commandment I ever obeyed â€” 'Consider the Lilies.
There is a pain â€“ so utter â€“ it swallows substance up â€“ then covers the Abyss with Trance â€“ so Memory can step around â€“ across â€“ opon it â€“ as one within a Swoon â€“ goes safely â€“ where an open eye â€“ would drop Him â€“ Bone by Bone.
Till I loved I never liked enough.
We do not play on Gravesâ€” Because there isn't Roomâ€” Besidesâ€”it isn't evenâ€”it slants And People comeâ€” And put a Flower on itâ€”And hang their faces soâ€”We're fearing that their Hearts will dropâ€”And crush our pretty playâ€”And so we move as far as Enemiesâ€”awayâ€”Just looking round to see how far It isâ€”Occasionallyâ€”
You ask of my companions. Hills, sir, and the sundown, and a dog as large as myself.
Life is but Life! And Death, but Death! Bliss is but Bliss, and Breath but Breath!
My best Acquaintances are those with Whom I spoke no Word.
Opinion is a fitting thing but truth outlasts the sun - if then we cannot own them both, possess the oldest one.
Susie, what shall I do - there is'nt room enough; not half enough, to hold what I was going to say. Wont you tell the man who makes sheets of paper, that I hav'nt the slightest respect for him!