That man is not truly brave who is afraid either to seem or to be, when it suits him, a coward.
EDGAR ALLAN POEA lie travels round the world while truth is putting her boots on.
More Edgar Allan Poe Quotes
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If a poem hasn’t ripped apart your soul; you haven’t experienced poetry.
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Even in the grave, all is not lost.
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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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If a man deceives me once, shame on him; if he deceives me twice, shame on me.
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The eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of sorrow.
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All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
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Invisible things are the only realities.
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I remained too much inside my head and ended up losing my mind.
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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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To die laughing must be the most glorious of all glorious deaths!
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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.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
That pleasure which is at once the most pure, the most elevating and the most intense, is derived, I maintain, from the contemplation of the beautiful.
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A lie travels round the world while truth is putting her boots on.
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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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The rudiment of verse may, possibly, be found in the spondee.
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And all I loved, I loved alone.
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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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The best things in life make you sweaty.
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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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The past is a pebble in my shoe.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
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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Books, indeed, were his sole luxuries.
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I am a writer. Therefore, I am not sane.
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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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It is the nature of truth in general, as of some ores in particular, to be richest when most superficial.
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The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.
EDGAR ALLAN POE