That which you mistake for madness is but an overacuteness of the senses.
EDGAR ALLAN POEIf you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered.
More Edgar Allan Poe Quotes
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Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute.
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That man is not truly brave who is afraid either to seem or to be, when it suits him, a coward.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
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!
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
The true genius shudders at incompleteness – imperfection – and usually prefers silence to saying the something which is not everything that should be said.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
When a madman appears thoroughly sane, indeed, it is high time to put him in a straight jacket.
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.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
I have, indeed, no abhorrence of danger, except in its absolute effect – in terror.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
Lord, help my poor soul.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
And all I loved, I loved alone.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
Yet mad I am not and very surely do I not dream.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
Even for those to whom life and death are equal jests. There are some things that are still held in respect.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
A lie travels round the world while truth is putting her boots on.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
If a poem hasn’t ripped apart your soul; you haven’t experienced poetry.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
Stupidity is a talent for misconception.
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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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Happiness is not to be found in knowledge, but in the acquisition of knowledge.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.
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Leave my loneliness unbroken.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
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.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best have gone to their eternal rest.
EDGAR ALLAN POE -
The eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of sorrow.
EDGAR ALLAN POE