Edgar Allan Poe Quotes
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I am SHADOW, and my dwelling is near to the Catacombs of Ptolemais, and hard by those dim plains of Helusion which border upon the foul Charonian canal." And then did we, the seven, start from our seats in horror, and stand trembling, and shuddering, and aghast, for the tones in the voice of the shadow were not the tones of any one being, but of a multitude of beings, and, varying in their cadences from syllable to syllable fell duskly upon our ears in the well-remembered and familiar accents of many thousand departed friends.
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All works of art should begin... at the end.
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Believe only half of what you see and nothing that you hear.
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Art is to look at not to criticize.
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We gave the Future to the winds, and slumbered tranquilly in the Present, weaving the dull world around us into dreams.
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And because our reason violently deters us from the brink, therefore, do we the more impetuously approach it. There is no passion in nature so demoniacally impatient, as that of him, who shuddering upon the edge of a precipice, thus meditates a plunge. To indulge for a moment, in any attempt at thought, is to be inevitably lost; for reflection but urges us to forbear, and therefore it is, I say, that we cannot. If there be no friendly arm to check us, or if we fail in a sudden effort to prostrate ourselves backward from the abyss, we plunge, and are destroyed.
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True, nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am, but why will say that I am mad?! The disease had haunted my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Of all the sense of hearing acute.
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False hope is nicer than no hope at all.
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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. Eagerly, I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Leonore - For the rare and radiant maiden who the angels name Lenore - Nameless here for evermore.
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Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore.
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If you are ever drowned or hung, be sure and make a note of your sensations.
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A poem in my opinion, is opposed to a work of science by having for its immediate object, pleasure, not truth.
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You are not wrong who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.
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There are moments when, even to the sober eye of Reason, the world of our sad humanity must assume the aspect of Hell.
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Literature is the most noble of professions. In fact, it is about the only one fit for a man.
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In for ever knowing, we are for ever blessed; but to know all were the curse of a fiend...
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Every moment of the night Forever changing places And they put out the star-light With the breath from their pale faces...
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It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee;-- And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.
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Yes," I said, "for the love of God!
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Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.