As a poet and as a mathematician, he would reason well; as a mere mathematician, he could not have reasoned at all.
EDGAR ALLAN POEAnd I fell violently on my face.
More Edgar Allan Poe Quotes
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We had always dwelled together, beneath a tropical sun, in the Valley of the Many Colored Grass.
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Books, indeed, were his sole luxuries.
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The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.
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With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.
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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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Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence.
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The world is a great ocean, upon which we encounter more tempestuous storms than calms.
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The death of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetical topic in the world.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
The rudiment of verse may, possibly, be found in the spondee.
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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.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls.
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Sleep, those little slices of death – how I loathe them.
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Art is to look at not to criticize.
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Mysteries force a man to think, and so injure his health.
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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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To elevate the soul, poetry is necessary.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.
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If a man deceives me once, shame on him; if he deceives me twice, shame on me.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
Leave my loneliness unbroken.
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False hope is nicer than no hope at all.
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All suffering originates from craving, from attachment, from desire.
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The true genius shudders at incompleteness – imperfection – and usually prefers silence to saying the something which is not everything that should be said.
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Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
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I am a writer. Therefore, I am not sane.
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In efforts to soar above our nature, we invariably fall below it.
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The eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of sorrow.
EDGAR ALLAN POE