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Every poem should remind the reader that they are going to die.
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Sometimes Iām terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.
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I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.
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That man is not truly brave who is afraid either to seem or to be, when it suits him, a coward.
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And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the senses? - now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.
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I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of Beauty.
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TRUE! - nervous - very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad?
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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary.
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It was many and many a year ago,In a kingdom by the sea,That a maiden lived whom you may knowBy the name of Annabel Lee; - And this maiden she lived with no other thoughtThan to love and be loved by me.
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Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
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'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!' Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'
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Can it be fancied that Deity ever vindictivelyMade in his image a mannikin merely to madden it?
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Keeping time, time, time,In a sort of Runic rhyme,To the tintinnabulation that so musically wellsFrom the bells, bells, bells, bells,Bells, bells, bells.
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A man's grammar, like Caesar's wife, must not only be pure, but above suspicion of impurity.
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The ninety and nine are with dreams, content but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.
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It is with literature as with law or empire - an established name is an estate in tenure, or a throne in possession.
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But our love it was stronger by far than the loveOf those who were older than we - Of many far wiser than we - And neither the angels in Heaven aboveNor the demons down under the seaCan ever dissever my soul from the soulOf the beautiful Annabel Lee
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Stupidity is a talent for misconception.
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There are few cases in which mere popularity should be considered a proper test of merit; but the case of song-writing is, I think, one of the few.
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With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.
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The higher powers of the reflective intellect are more decidedly and more usefully tasked by the unostentatious game of draughts than by all the elaborate frivolity of chess.
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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.
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Gaily bedight,A gallant knight,In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long,Singing a song,In search of Eldorado.
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The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.