Edgar Allan Poe
Edgar Allan Poe Quotes
''All that we see or seemEdgar Allan Poe (1809-1845), U.S. poet, critic, short-story writer. A Dream within a Dream (1849).
Is but a dream within a dream.''
''How much more intense is the excitement wrought in the feelings of a crowd by the contemplation of human agony, than that brought about by the most appalling spectacles of inanimate matter.''Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. author. The narrator, in "Metzengerstein," Saturday Courier (1832). The aesthetic of terror.
''I stand amid the roarEdgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. poet. A Dream within a Dream (l. 1-7). . . Complete Poems and Selected Essays [Edgar Allan Poe]. Richard Gray, ed. (1993) Everyman.
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weepwhile I weep!''
''I have often been reproached with the aridity of my genius; a deficiency of imagination has been imputed to me as a crime; and the Pyrrhonism of my opinions has at all times rendered me notorious. Indeed, a strong relish for physical philosophy has, I fear, tinctured my mind with a very common error of this ageI mean the habit of referring occurrences, even the least susceptible of such reference, to the principles of that science.''Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. author. The narrator, in "Ms. Found in a Bottle," Baltimore Saturday Visitor (1833). Echoing Poe's fascination with his nihilistic self.
''There is not a more disgusting spectacle under the sun than our subserviency to British criticism. It is disgusting, first, because it is truckling, servile, pusillanimoussecondly, because of its gross irrationality. We know the British to bear us little but ill willwe know that, in no case do they utter unbiased opinions of American books ... we know all this, and yet, day after day, submit our necks to the degrading yoke of the crudest opinion that emanates from the fatherland.''Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1845), U.S. poet, critic, short-story writer. "American Nationality in Literature," Marginalia (1844-1849).
''I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity.''Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. author. The narrator, in "The Black Cat," United States Saturday Post (1843). Poe satirizing his penchant for self-justification.
''the wind came out of the cloud chillingEdgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. poet. Annabel Lee (l. 25-26). . . Complete Poems and Selected Essays [Edgar Allan Poe]. Richard Gray, ed. (1993) Everyman.
And killing my Annabel Lee.''
''As I rapidly made the mesmeric passes, amid ejaculations of "dead! dead!" absolutely bursting from the tongue and not from the lips of the sufferer, his whole frame at once ... crumbledabsolutely rotted away beneath my hands.''Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. author. The narrator, in "The Case of M. Valdemar," American Review: A Whig Journal (1845). Dying and the "physique of horror."
''And so all the night-tide, I lie down by the sideEdgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. poet. Annabel Lee (l. 38-41). . . Complete Poems and Selected Essays [Edgar Allan Poe]. Richard Gray, ed. (1993) Everyman.
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride
In her sepulchre there by the sea
In her tomb by the side of the sea.''
''I must not only punish, but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.''Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. author. The narrator, in "The Cask of Amontillado," Godey's Magazine and Lady's Book (1846). Revenge perfected into an art by the psychopathic Montresor.
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From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red ...
Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-
Of all to whom thine absence is the night-
The blotting utterly from out high heaven
The sacred sun- of all who, weeping, bless thee
Hourly for hope- for life- ah! above all,
For the resurrection of deep-buried faith
In Truth- in Virtue- in Humanity-
Of all who, on Despair's unhallowed bed
Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen