The wood grew denser and denser.  The red trunks thicker and thicker.  The green foliage heavier and heavier.  The air darker and darker.  The brushes more and more profuse.  The toadstools more and more numerous.  In the end one found oneself treading on nothing but toadstools.  The man found it more and more difficult to walk, to push his way through without slipping.  But he went on, repeating more and more quickly the same sentence: –

Healing scars.
Corresponding colors.

To his left and a little behind him walked a woman.  Each time the man stopped saying this sentence,  she would say with great conviction, rolling her “r”s:
verrry prrractical.

~ from Kandinsky. Complete writings on art, 1982

the sage poets, taught by the heavenly Muse,
Storied of old in high immortal verse
Of dire chimeras and enchanted isles,
And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to hell;
For such there be, but unbelief is blind.
Within the navel of this hideous wood,
Immured in cypress shades, a sorcerer dwells,
Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus,
Deep-skilled in all his mother;s witcheries,
And here to every thirsty wanderer
By shy enticement gives his baneful cup,
With many murmurs mixed, whose pleasing poison
The visage quite transforms of him that drinks,
And the inglorious likeness of a beast
Fixes instead, unmooulding reason’s mintage
Charactered in the face.  This have I learnt
Tending my flocks hard by i’ the hilly crofts
That brow this bottom glade; whence by night
He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl
Like stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey,
Doing abhorred rites to Hecate.

~ extract from Comus as published in Milton’s Poetical Works, 1887

Benjamin Haydon writes: I followed the maid into a gallery or show room, enough to frighten anybody at twilight.  Galvanized devils — malicious witches brewing their incantations — Satan bridging Chaos, and springing upwards like a pyramid of fire — Lady Macbeth — Paolo and Francesca — Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly — humour, pathos, terror, blood and murder, met one at every look!  I expected the floor to give way — I fancied Fuseli himself to be a giant.  I heard his footsteps and saw a little bony hand slide round the edge of the door, followed by a little white-headed lion-faced man in an old flannel dressing-gown tied round his waist with a piece of rope and upon his head the bottom of Mrs. Fuseli’s work-basket.

~ From Hayon’s Autobiography (1855) via the Drawings of Henry Fuseli (1949)

Kandinsky writes: …It is clear that the harmony of colors can only be based upon the principle of purposefully touching the human soul.

~ On the Spiritual in Art, 1912

Edgar Allan Poe writes:  I shall ever bear about me a memory of the many solemn hours I thus spent alone with the master of the House of Usher.  Yet I should fail in any attempt to convey an idea of the exact character of the studies, or of the occupations in which he involved me or led me the way.  An excited and highly distempered ideality threw a sulphureous luster over all.  His long improvised dirges will ring forever in my ears.  Among other things, I hold painfully in mind a certain singular perversion and amplification of the wild air of the last waltz of Von Weber.  From the paintings over which his elaborate fancy brooded, and which grew, touch by touch, into vaguenesses at which I shuddered the more thrillingly, because I shuddered knowing not why; – from these paintings (vivid as their images now are before me) I would in vain endeavor to educe more than a small portion which should lie within the compass of merely written words.  By the utter simplicity, by the nakedness of his designs, he arrested and overawed attention.  If ever mortal painted an idea, that mortal was Roderick Usher.  For me,  at least — in the circumstances then surrounding me — there arose out of the pure abstractions which the hypochondriac contrived to throw upon his canvas an intensity of intolerable awe, no shadow of which felt I ever yet in the contemplation of the certainly glowing yet too concrete reveries of Fuseli.

~ ‘Fall of the House of Usher’ as published in the Biliophile Library of Literature (vol 17), 1904
~ Image by Henri Fuseli and found  here [Even though Usher's art overtook Fuseli's, it's here just for mood ;[
~ The Last Waltz (Op. 26 Clarinet Concertino in E Flat Major) [pls correct me if i'm wrong] here