The true genius shudders at incompleteness.
Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem.
And much of Madness, and more of Sin, And Horror the soul of the plot.
Deep in earth my love is lying And I must weep alone.
Children are never too tender to be whipped. Like tough beefsteaks, the more you beat them, the more tender they become.
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.
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.
When a madman appears thoroughly sane, indeed, it is high time to put him in a straight jacket.
All works of art should begin... at the end.
And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but overacuteness of the senses?
Man is an animal that diddles, and there is no animal that diddles but man.
Convinced myself, I seek not to convince.
The pioneers and missionaries of religion have been the real cause of more trouble and war than all other classes of mankind.
I have, indeed, no abhorrence of danger, except in its absolute effect - in terror.
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.
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.
I fell in love with melancholy
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.
You will observe that the stories told are all about money-seekers, not about money-finders.
I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity.
Yet we met; and fate bound us together at the alter,and I never spoke of passion nor thought of love. She, however shunned society, and, attaching herself to me alone rendered me happy. It is a happiness to wonder; it is a happiness to dream.
Decorum -- that bug-bear which deters so many from bliss until the opportunity for bliss has forever gone by.
Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance.
The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.
...the agony of my soul found vent in one loud, long and final scream of despair.
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