Edgar Allan Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Edgar Allan. Here they are! All 100 of them:

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I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.
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Edgar Allan Poe (Eleonora)
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I have great faith in fools - self-confidence my friends will call it.
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Edgar Allan Poe (Marginalia)
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I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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From childhood's hour I have not been. As others were, I have not seen. As others saw, I could not awaken. My heart to joy at the same tone. And all I loved, I loved alone.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Sleep, those little slices of death β€” how I loathe them.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute.
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Complete Stories and Poems)
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Never to suffer would never to have been blessed.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Sometimes I’m terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.
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Poe
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If you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Hey," said Shadow. "Huginn or Muninn, or whoever you are." The bird turned, head tipped, suspiciously, on one side, and it stared at him with bright eyes. "Say 'Nevermore,'" said Shadow. "Fuck you," said the raven.
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Neil Gaiman (American Gods (American Gods, #1))
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I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Deep in earth my love is lying And I must weep alone.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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And so being young and dipped in folly I fell in love with melancholy.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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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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Edgar Allan Poe
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Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence– whether much that is glorious– whether all that is profound– does not spring from disease of thought– from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect.
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe)
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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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Edgar Allan Poe (The Raven)
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Invisible things are the only realities.
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Edgar Allan Poe (Loss of Breath)
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The true genius shudders at incompleteness β€” imperfection β€” and usually prefers silence to saying the something which is not everything that should be said.
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Edgar Allan Poe (Marginalia)
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I have no faith in human perfectibility. I think that human exertion will have no appreciable effect upon humanity. Man is now only more active - not more happy - nor more wise, than he was 6000 years ago.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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The death of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetical topic in the world.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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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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Edgar Allan Poe
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With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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There are some secrets which do not permit themselves to be told.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion.
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Francis Bacon
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I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of beauty.
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Poetic Principle)
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The past is a pebble in my shoe.
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Poe
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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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Edgar Allan Poe (The Premature Burial)
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To elevate the soul, poetry is necessary.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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That which you mistake for madness is but an overacuteness of the senses.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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It is a happiness to wonder; -- it is a happiness to dream.
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Edgar Allan Poe (Complete Stories and Poems)
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Now this is the point. You fancy me a mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded...
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Tell-Tale Heart and Other Writings)
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I intend to put up with nothing that I can put down." [Letter to J. Beauchamp Jones, August 8, 1839]
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe)
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There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion.
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Masque of the Red Death)
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Even in the grave, all is not lost.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Yet mad I am not...and very surely do I not dream.
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Black Cat)
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Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Raven)
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Convinced myself, I seek not to convince.
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Edgar Allan Poe (Great Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe)
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To die laughing must be the most glorious of all glorious deaths!
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Complete Stories and Poems)
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Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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A short story must have a single mood and every sentence must build towards it.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Stupidity is a talent for misconception.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Leave my loneliness unbroken
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Raven)
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And I fell violently on my face.
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Edgar Allan Poe (Great Tales and Poems)
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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 sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute.
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Tell-Tale Heart and Other Writings)
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Wasn't he the one who sliced off his ear and mailed it to his girlfriend?" "Van Gogh," said Varen, in a monotone that suggested he might be in pain. "Van Gogh," Gwen said, leaning away, waving the apple. "Edgar Allan Poe. Close enough!
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Kelly Creagh (Nevermore (Nevermore, #1))
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Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore...
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Raven)
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The fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body; and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame.
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Black Cat)
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Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway.
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Edgar Allan Poe (Collected Poems)
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Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Complete Stories and Poems)
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But our love was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we Of many far wiser than we And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
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Edgar Allan Poe (Annabel Lee)
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Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night. In their gray visions they obtain glimpses of eternity, and thrill, in waking, to find that they have been upon the verge of the great secret. In snatches, they learn something of the wisdom which is of good, and more of the mere knowledge which is of evil.
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Edgar Allan Poe (Complete Tales and Poems)
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To me [Edgar Allan Poe's] prose is unreadableβ€”like Jane Austin's [sic]. No there is a difference. I could read his prose on salary, but not Jane's. Jane is entirely impossible. It seems a great pity that they allowed her to die a natural death.
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Mark Twain
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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door β€” Only this, and nothing more." 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; β€” vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow β€” sorrow for the lost Lenore β€” For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore β€” Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me β€” filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door β€” Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; β€” This it is, and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you"β€” here I opened wide the door; β€” Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" β€” Merely this, and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice: Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore β€” Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; β€” 'Tis the wind and nothing more." Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door β€” Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door β€” Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore. Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore β€” Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaningβ€” little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door β€” Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore.
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Raven)
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The truth is, everyone likes to look down on someone. If your favorites are all avant-garde writers who throw in Sanskrit and German, you can look down on everyone. If your favorites are all Oprah Book Club books, you can at least look down on mystery readers. Mystery readers have sci-fi readers. Sci-fi can look down on fantasy. And yes, fantasy readers have their own snobbishness. I’ll bet this, though: in a hundred years, people will be writing a lot more dissertations on Harry Potter than on John Updike. Look, Charles Dickens wrote popular fiction. Shakespeare wrote popular fictionβ€”until he wrote his sonnets, desperate to show the literati of his day that he was real artist. Edgar Allan Poe tied himself in knots because no one realized he was a genius. The core of the problem is how we want to define β€œliterature”. The Latin root simply means β€œletters”. Those letters are either deliveredβ€”they connect with an audienceβ€”or they don’t. For some, that audience is a few thousand college professors and some critics. For others, its twenty million women desperate for romance in their lives. Those connections happen because the books successfully communicate something real about the human experience. Sure, there are trashy books that do really well, but that’s because there are trashy facets of humanity. What people value in their booksβ€”and thus what they count as literatureβ€”really tells you more about them than it does about the book.
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Brent Weeks
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Experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger, portion of truth arises from the seemingly irrelevant.
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Mystery of Marie RogΓͺt (C. Auguste Dupin, #2))
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Fill with mingled cream and amber, I will drain that glass again. Such hilarious visions clamber Through the chamber of my brain β€” Quaintest thoughts β€” queerest fancies Come to life and fade away; What care I how time advances? I am drinking ale today.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made.
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Masque of the Red Death)
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The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls...
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Edgar Allan Poe
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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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Edgar Allan Poe
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A man's grammar, like Caesar's wife, should not only be pure, but above suspicion of impurity.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Villains!' I shrieked. 'Dissemble no more! I admit the deed! Tear up the planks! Here, here! It is the beating of his hideous heart!
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Tell-Tale Heart and Other Writings)
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A woman being never at a loss... the devil always sticks by them.
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Lord Byron (Lord Byron: Selected Letters and Journals)
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Mysteries force a man to think, and so injure his health.
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Edgar Allan Poe (Ne Pariez Jamais Votre)
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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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Edgar Allan Poe (Ligeia)
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You call it hope β€” that fire of fire! It is but agony of desire.
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Edgar Allan Poe (Edgar Allan Poe: Selected Poems)
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Close, close all night the lovers keep. They turn together in their sleep, Close as two pages in a book that read each other in the dark. Each knows all the other knows, learned by heart from head to toes.
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Elizabeth Bishop (Edgar Allan Poe & The Juke-Box: Uncollected Poems, Drafts, and Fragments)
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The rain came down upon my head - Unshelter'd. And the wind rendered me mad and deaf and blind.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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...that fitful strain of melancholy which will ever be found inseperable from the perfection of the beautiful.
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Works of Edgar Allen Poe Volume 4)
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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore β€” While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. β€œβ€™Tis some visitor,” I muttered, β€œtapping at my chamber door β€” Only this and nothing more.
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Raven)
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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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Edgar Allan Poe
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Lord help my poor soul.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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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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Edgar Allan Poe (The Mystery of Marie RogΓͺt (C. Auguste Dupin, #2))
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The idea of God, infinity, or spirit stands for the possible attempt at an impossible conception.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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When, indeed, men speak of Beauty, they mean, precisely, not a quality, as is supposed, but an effect - they refer, in short, just to that intense and pure elevation of soul - not of intellect, or of heart.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best have gone to their eternal rest.
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Edgar Allan Poe (Poems)
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There is an eloquence in true enthusiasm
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Edgar Allan Poe
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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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Edgar Allan Poe
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From childhood's hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone. Then- in my childhood, in the dawn Of a most stormy life- was drawn From every depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still: From the torrent, or the fountain, From the red cliff of the mountain, From the sun that round me rolled In its autumn tint of gold, From the lightning in the sky As it passed me flying by, From the thunder and the storm, And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view.
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Edgar Allan Poe (Alone)
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A million candles have burned themselves out. Still I read on. (Montresor)
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Cask of Amontillado)
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Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow- 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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Edgar Allan Poe (The Complete Stories and Poems)
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For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but i feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
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Edgar Allan Poe (Annabel Lee)
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Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day; or the agonies which are have their origins in ecstasies which might have been.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love- I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me.
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Edgar Allan Poe (Annabel Lee)
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For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Dan gestured past Neil toward the changing room. "What happened?" Neil counted it off on his fingers. "Kevin told them Coach is his father, said he's never going back to Edgar Allan, and called the Ravens out as two-faced assholes. Oh," he said, looking up from his hand, "and he said his injury wasn't an accident. Not in so many words, but it won't take them long to figure out what he meant." Dan gaped. "He what?" "Great," Wymack said. "He's turning into another you. That's just what I needed.
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Nora Sakavic (The King's Men (All for the Game, #3))
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Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a vile or silly action for no other reason than because he knows he should not? Have we not a perpetual inclination, in the teeth of our best judgement, to violate that which is Law, merely because we understand it to be such?
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Black Cat)
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From childhood's hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone.
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe, Vol. 2)
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It is more than probable that I am not understood; but I fear, indeed, that it is in no manner possible to convey to the mind of the merely general reader, an adequate idea of that nervous intensity of interest with which, in my case, the powers of meditation (not to speak technically) busied and buried themselves, in the contemplation of even the most ordinary objects of the universe.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Men have called me mad; but the question is not settled whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence -- whether much that is glorious -- whether all that is profound -- does not spring from disease of thought -- from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect. They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who only dream by night. In their gray visions they obtain glimpses of eternity, and thrill, in waking, to find that they have been upon the verge of the great secret. In snatches, they learn something of the wisdom which is of good, and more of the mere knowledge which is of evil. They penetrate, however rudderless or compassless, into the vast ocean of the β€˜light ineffable’.
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Edgar Allan Poe (Eleonora)
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During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country; and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it was--but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I say insufferable; for the feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasureable, because poetic, sentiment, with which the mind usually receives even the sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible. I looked upon the scene before me--upon the mere house, and the simple landscape features of the domain--upon the bleak walls--upon the vacant eye-like windows--upon a few rank sedges--and upon a few white trunks of decayed trees--with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of the reveller upon opium--the bitter lapse into everyday life--the hideous dropping off of the veil. There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart--an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture into aught of the sublime.
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Edgar Allan Poe (The Fall of the House of Usher and Other Tales)
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I Hear the sledges with the bells - Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. II Hear the mellow wedding bells - Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight! - From the molten - golden notes, And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle - dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon! Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! How it swells! How it dwells On the Future! - how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! III Hear the loud alarum bells - Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor Now - now to sit, or never, By the side of the pale - faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear, it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells - Of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - In the clamor and the clanging of the bells! IV Hear the tolling of the bells - Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people - ah, the people - They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone - They are neither man nor woman - They are neither brute nor human - They are Ghouls: - And their king it is who tolls: - And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Rolls A paean from the bells! And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells! And he dances, and he yells; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the paean of the bells: - Of the bells: Keeping time, time, time In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells: - To the sobbing of the bells: - Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells - To the tolling of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells, - To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
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Edgar Allan Poe