I want to play like Paul Morphy

He is still a human and he can be wrong.If you ask 20 , you will get 20 different answers.It is better not to base your opinion on what 1 man says(even grandmaster are not always  right) but try to form  your own by studying Morphy's games.

Paul Morphy is my biggest idol in chess. His games are so brilliant and beautiful. I want to play like Paul Morphy was the sentence which was said in the last days by me as I watched some videos about him. But the problem is that there are so much black´s answers exist. During Morphy´s life time nobody played the Scicilian, the french, caro kann. Only Philidor. But today I have the fear, I cannot play the evans gambit. Why? Because a lot of player plays c5, e6, c6, d5, Sf6, ...

I had played the London System and the queens gambit. But I find this openings boring when I always play them. So I need a tactical opening. I want to improve my chess. 

So, to play e4 is connected with a lot of homework. I have to be able to defense against all black answers. Should I take the way from switching d4 to e4? Is this the right decision for my chess improvement? I want to read your suggestion.

All in all I am so fascinated by Paul Morphy. :)

You will never be able to play like Paul Morphy. Paul Morphy is now believed to have had some form of mental illness and probably therefore had acquired savant syndrome (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Savant_syndrome; http://www.popsci.com/science/article/2013-02/when-brain-damage-unlocks-genius-within), which is believed to be a form of brain damage where one region of the brain attempts to compensate for loss of another region. The advantage to acquired savant syndrome is that the region of the brain being recruited to take over for the damaged region is often an area that is specialized for some operation like counting, calculating, memorizing, or even creating, and obviously enhanced calculation ability would be great for chess players. The disadvantage is that the person cannot function normally, and is often autistic in an undersirable way. In Morphy's case, he descended into depression so badly later in life that he couldn't function as a lawyer anymore. Unless you want your brain to be cut down gradually by a doubled-edged sword that will eventually render your life useless, you don't want to be like Paul Morphy, and you never could anyway, unless you were somehow to able to learn enough about the brain to produce exactly that type of damage in exactly the same areas.

If you're asking how to improve at chess without a rare form of brain damage, that is another matter and can get more practical answers. That's what the rest of us are doing.

----------

(p. 111)
Morphy's descent from the top was as abrupt as
his rise. At the height of his powers and fame, he
abandoned the game and grew increasingly
withdrawn. He was said to have suffered from a
persecution complex and died a lonely death.
Myths have been built up surrounding Morphy to
account for his behavior, including unrequited
love and bitterness at being snubbed by an elder
champion. Unfortunately, the truth is more likely
a prosaic, if sad, case of mental illness.

(p. 297)
After defeating the best and the brightest, Morphy retired from chess to set up
his law practice in New Orleans. Unfortunately, what many believe to have been
serious mental health problems surfaced and haunted him for the remainder of
his days.

Eade, James. 1996. Chess For Dummies. Foster City, CA: IDG Books Worldwide, Inc.

----------

(p. 202)
   Had the numbers any meaning, I wondered on the way home,
had they any 'real' or universal sense, or (if any at all) a merely
whimsical or private sense, like the secret and silly 'languages'
brothers and sisters sometimes work out for themselves? And, as I
drove home, I thought of Luria's twins--Liosha and Yura--brain-
damaged, speech-damaged identical twins, and how they would
play and prattle with each other, in a primitive, babble-like lan-
guage of their own (Luria and Yudovich, 1959). John and Michael
were not even using words or half-words--simply throwing num-
bers at each other. Were these 'Borgesian' or 'Funsian' numbers,
mere numeric vines, or pony manes, or constellations, private
number-forms--a sort of number argot--known to the twins alone?
   As soon as I got home I pulled out tables of powers, factors,
logarithms and primes--mementos and relics of an odd, isolated
period in my childhood, when I too was something of a
number brooder, a number 'see-er', and had a peculiar passion
for numbers. I already had a hunch--and now I confirmed it. All
the numbers, the six-figure numbers, which the twins had ex-
changed were primes--i.e., numbers that could be evenly divided
by no other whole number than itself or one. Had they somehow
seen or possessed such a book as mine--or were they, in some
unimaginable way, themselves 'seeing' primes, in somewhat the
same way as they had 'seen' 111-ness, or triple 37-ness? Certainly
they could not be calculating them--they could calculate nothing.
   I returned to the ward the next day, carrying the precious book
(p. 203)
of primes with me. I again found them closeted in their numerical
communion, but this time, without saying anything, I quietly
joined them. They were taken aback at first, but when I made no
interruption, they resumed their 'game' of six-figure primes. After
a few minutes I decided to join in, and ventured a number, an
eight-figure prime. They both turned towards me, then suddenly
became still, with a look of intense concentration and perhaps
wonder on their faces. There was a long pause--the longest I had
ever known them to make, it must have lasted a half-minute or
more--and then suddenly, simultaneously, they both broke into
smiles.
   They had, after some unimaginable internal process of testing,
suddenly seen my own eight-digit number as a prime--and this
was manifestly a great joy, a double joy, to them; first because I
had introduced a delightful new plaything, a prime of an order
they had never previously encountered; and, secondly, because it
was evident that I had seen what they were doing, that I liked it,
that I admired it, and that I could join in myself.
   They drew apart slightly, making room for me, a new number
playmate, a third in their world. Then John, who always took the
lead, thought for a very long time--it must have been at least five
minutes, though I dared not move, and scarcely breathed--and
brought out a nine-figure number; and after a similar time his
twin, Michael, responded with a similar one. And then I, in my
turn, after a surreptitious look in my book, added my own rather
dishonest contribution, a ten-figure prime I found in my book.
   There was again, and for even longer, a wondering, still silence;
and then John, after a prodigious internal contemplation, brought
out a twelve-figure number. I had no way of checking this, and
could not respond, because my own book--which, as far as I
knew, was unique of its kind--did not go beyond ten-figure primes.
But Michael was up to it, though it took him five minutes--and
an hour later the twins were swapping twenty-figure primes, at
least I assume this was so, for I had no way of checking it. Nor
was there any easy way, in 1966, unless one had the use of a
sophisticated computer. And even then, it would have been dif-
ficult, for whether one uses Eratosthenes' sieve, or any other al-
(p. 204)
gorithm, there is no simple method of calculating primes. There
is no simple method, for primes of this order--and yet the twins
were doing it. (But see the Postscript.)
   Again, I thought of Dase, whom I had read of years before, in
F.W.H. Myers's enchanting book Human Personality (1903).

We know that Dase (perhaps the most successful of such pro-
digies) was singularly devoid of mathematical grasp . . . Yet he
in twelve years made tables of factors and prime numbers for
the seventh and nearly the whole of the eighth million--a task
which few men could have accomplished, without mechanical
aid, in an ordinary lifetime.

(p. 209)
   This serenity was, in fact, interrupted and broken up ten years
alter, when it was felt that the twins should be separated--'for their
own good', to prevent their 'unhealthy communication together',
and in order that they could 'come out and face the world . . . in
an appropriate, socially acceptable way' (as the medical and socio-
logical jargon had it). They were separated, then, in 1977, with
results that might be considered as either gratifying or dire. Both
have been moved into 'halfway houses', and do menial jobs,
for pocket money, under close supervision. They are able to take
buses, if carefully directed and given a token, and to keep them-
selves moderately presentable and clean, though their moronic and
psychotic character is still recognisable at a glance.
   This is the positive side--but there is a negative side too (not
mentioned in their charts, because it was never recognised in the
first place). Deprived of their numerical 'communion' with each
other, and of time and opportunity for any 'contemplation' or
'communion' at all--they are always being hurried and jostled
(p. 210)
from one job to another--they seem to have lost their strange
numerical power, and with this the chief joy and sense of their
lives. But this is considered a small price to pay, no doubt, for
their having become quasi-independent and 'socially acceptable'.
   One is reminded somewhat of the treatment meted out to
Nadia--an autistic child with a phenomenal gift for drawing (see
below, p. 219). Nadia too was subjected to a therapeutic regime
'to find ways in which her potentialities in other directions could
be maximised'. The net effect was that she started talking--and
stopped drawing. Nigel Dennis comments: 'We are left with a
genius who has had her genius removed, leaving nothing behind
but a general defectiveness. What are we supposed to think about
such a curious cure?'
   It should be added--this is a point dwelt on by F.W.H. Myers,
whose consideration of number prodigies opens his chapter on
'Genius'--that the faculty is 'strange', and may disappear sponta-
neously, though it is, as often, lifelong. In the case of the twins,
of course, it was not just a 'faculty', but the personal and emotional
centre of their lives. And now they are separated, now it is gone,
there is no longer any sense or centre to their lives.

Sacks, Oliver. 1985. The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat: and Other Clinical Tales. New York, NY: HarperCollins Publishers.

You will never be able to play like Paul Morphy. Paul Morphy is now believed to have had some form of mental illness and probably therefore had acquired savant syndrome 

IMO, Morphy's best games were played with gambits. Particularly the King's Gambit. Learn gambit openings, gambit playing style, study his games, and do lots of tactic puzzles (Morphy was a combinational genius, so this is the most important step). Of course you won't be able to play just like Morphy because theory has changed, but playing gambits and learning to not be afraid of a sound sacrifice will definitely get you a similar style.

i dont get it. 

also new orleans aristocrats often seemed to have this quality of appearing to be more crazy than they really were. its a useful skill to have around them.