Edgar Allan Poe Quotes
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All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.
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From childhood's hour I have not beenAs others were - I have not seenAs others saw - I could not bringMy passions from a common spring - From the same source I have not takenMy sorrow - I could not awakenMy heart to joy at the same tone - And all I lov'd - I lov'd alone -
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And when, amid no earthly moans,Down, down that town shall settle hence,Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,Shall do it reverence.
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Man is an animal that diddles, and there is no animal that diddles but man.
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Ceux qui revent eveilles ont conscience de 1000 choses qui echapent a ceux qui ne revent qu'endormis. The one who has day dream are aware of 1000 things that the one who dreams only when he sleeps will never understand. (it sounds better in french, I do what I can with my translation...)
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To observe attentively is to remember distinctly.
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For the love of God Montresor!
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The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?
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How many good books suffer neglect through the inefficiency of their beginnings!
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The true genius shudders at incompleteness - and usually prefers silence to saying something which is not everything it should be.
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Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence.
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It is the nature of truth in general, as of some ores in particular, to be richest when most superficial.
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Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
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Lord, help my poor soul.
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I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.
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In criticism I will be bold, and as sternly, absolutely just with friend and foe. From this purpose nothing shall turn me.
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In one case out of a hundred a point is excessively discussed because it is obscure; in the ninety-nine remaining it is obscure because it is excessively discussed.
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If I could dwellWhere IsrafelHath dwelt, and he where I,He might not sing so wildly wellA mortal melody,While a bolder note than this might swellFrom my lyre within the sky.
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In beauty of face no maiden ever equaled her. It was the radiance of an opium-dream - an airy and spirit-lifting vision more wildly divine than the fantasies which hovered about the slumbering souls of the daughters of Delos.
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When a madman appears thoroughly sane, indeed, it is high time to put him in a straight jacket.
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Come! let the burial rite be read - the funeral song be sung! - An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young - A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.
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O, human love! thou spirit given,On Earth, of all we hope in Heaven!
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Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term Art, I should call it 'the reproduction of what the Senses perceive in Nature through the veil of the soul.' The mere imitation, however accurate, of what is in Nature, entitles no man to the sacred name of 'Artist.'
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'Doubtless,' said I, 'what it utters is its only stock and store,Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful DisasterFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore.