Man’s real life is happy, chiefly because he is ever expecting that it soon will be so.
EDGAR ALLAN POEThe death of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetical topic in the world.
More Edgar Allan Poe Quotes
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To die laughing must be the most glorious of all glorious deaths!
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Happiness is not to be found in knowledge, but in the acquisition of knowledge.
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If a poem hasn’t ripped apart your soul; you haven’t experienced poetry.
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The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls.
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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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A million candles have burned themselves out. Still I read on.
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Leave my loneliness unbroken.
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There is an eloquence in true enthusiasm.
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And I fell violently on my face.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
Stupidity is a talent for misconception.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
When a madman appears thoroughly sane, indeed, it is high time to put him in a straight jacket.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
If a man deceives me once, shame on him; if he deceives me twice, shame on me.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
Imperceptibly the love of these discords grew upon me as my love of music grew stronger.
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Invisible things are the only realities.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
All suffering originates from craving, from attachment, from desire.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
The eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of sorrow.
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Books, indeed, were his sole luxuries.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.
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I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of beauty.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
As a poet and as a mathematician, he would reason well; as a mere mathematician, he could not have reasoned at all.
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Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
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Art is to look at not to criticize.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
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We loved with a love that was more than love.
EDGAR ALLAN POE