The most natural, and, consequently, the truest and most intense of the human affections are those which arise in the heart as if by electric sympathy.
In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed-- But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted.
Decorum -- that bug-bear which deters so many from bliss until the opportunity for bliss has forever gone by.
And much of Madness, and more of Sin, And Horror the soul of the plot.
Grammar is the analysis of language.
Deep in earth my love is lying And I must weep alone.
Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem.
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.
Children are never too tender to be whipped. Like tough beefsteaks, the more you beat them, the more tender they become.
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you"— here I opened wide the door; — Darkness there, and nothing more.
...the agony of my soul found vent in one loud, long and final scream of despair.
All works of art should begin... at the end.
Music, when combined with a pleasurable idea, is poetry; music, without the idea, is simply music; the idea, without the music, is prose, from its very definitiveness.
When a madman appears thoroughly sane, indeed, it is high time to put him in a straight jacket.
You will observe that the stories told are all about money-seekers, not about money-finders.
The pioneers and missionaries of religion have been the real cause of more trouble and war than all other classes of mankind.
Man is an animal that diddles, and there is no animal that diddles but man.
Convinced myself, I seek not to convince.
The fever called "living" Is conquer'd at last.
And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but overacuteness of the senses?
That single thought is enough. The impulse increases to a wish, the wish to a desire, the desire to an uncontrollable longing, and the longing (to the deep regret and mortification of the speaker, and in defiance of all consequences,) is indulged.
And the Raven, never flitting, Still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas Just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming Of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming Throws his shadow on the floor, And my soul from out that shadow, That lies floating on the floor, Shall be lifted - nevermore.
I have, indeed, no abhorrence of danger, except in its absolute effect - in terror.
I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity.
The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.
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