Quotes by Edgar Allan Poe
Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute.
All that we see or seen Is but a dream within a dream.
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 v...
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.
It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea,...
Thank Heaven! the crisis — The danger, is past,...
The painter stood entranced before the work which he had wrought;... he grew tremulous and ... crying with a loud voice, "This is indeed Life ...
The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, Which is enduring, so be deep! Heaven have her in its sacred keep!
Some sepulcher, remote, alone, Against whose portal she hath thrown,...
You have conquered, and I yield. Yet, henceforward art thou ... dead to the World, to Heaven and to Hope! In me didst thou exist—and, in my ...
My love—my faith—should instil into your bosom a praeternatural calm. You would rest from care.... You would get better.... And if not, He...
Men die nightly in their beds, wringing the hands of ghostly confessors ... on account of the hideousness of mysteries which will not suffer t...
Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night.
Depend upon it, after all, Thomas, Literature is the most noble of professions. In fact, it is about the only one fit for a man. For my own part, there is no seducing me from the path.
Scorching my seared heart with a pain, not hell shall make me fear again.
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity
the wind came out of the cloud chilling And killing my Annabel Lee.
Sleep, those little slices of death; Oh how I loathe them.
The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure ...: buffoons,... improvisatori,... ballet-dancers,... musicians,... Beauty,... wine. A...
Take this kiss upon the brow And, in parting from you now,Thus much let me avow--You are not wrong who deemThat my days have been a dreamYet if hope has flown awayIn a night, or in a day,In a vision, or in none,Is it therefore the less goneAll that we see or seemIs but a dream within a dream.
Convinced myself, I seek not to convince.
Children are never too tender to be whipped. Like tough beefsteaks, the more you beat them, the more tender they become.
Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie....
There are certain themes of which the interest is all-absorbing, but which are too entirely horrible for the purposes of legitimate fiction.
Sleep, those little slices of death, how I loathe them.
