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The rain came down upon my head - Unshelter'd. And the wind rendered me mad and deaf and blind.
Edgar Allan Poe
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Edgar Allan Poe
Age: 40 †
Born: 1809
Born: January 19
Died: 1849
Died: October 7
Author
Crime Writer
Essayist
Journalist
Literary Critic
Literary Theorist
Lyricist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Boston
Massachusetts
Poe
Edgar Poe
E. A. Poe
Upon
Rendered
Deaf
Mad
Rain
Blind
Wind
Head
Came
More quotes by Edgar Allan Poe
Believe me, there exists no such dilemma as that in which a gentleman is placed when he is forced to reply to a blackguard.
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...If you do not take it up with you in some way, I shall be under the necessity of breaking your head with this shovel
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If you have never been at sea in a heavy gale, you can form no idea of the confusion of mind occasioned by wind and spry together. They blind, deafen, and strangle you, and take away all power of action or reflection.
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There are few persons, even among the calmest thinkers, who have not occasionally been startled into a vague yet thrilling half credence in the supernatural, by coincidences of so seemingly marvellous a character that, as mere coincidences, the intellect has been unable to receive them.
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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– whether much that is glorious– whether all that is profound– does not spring from disease of thought– from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect.
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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.
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Prophet! said I, thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore- Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore- Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore. Quoth the Raven, Nevermor
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A strong argument for the religion of Christ is this - that offences against Charity are about the only ones which men on their death-beds can be made - not to understand - but to feel - as crime.
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Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem.
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I dread the events of the future, not in themselves but in their results.
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But in the expression of the countenance, which was beaming all over with smiles, there still lurked (incomprehensible anomalyl) that fitful strain of melancholy which will ever be found inseparable from the perfection of the beautiful.
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To speak algebraically, Mr. M. is execrable, but Mr. G. is (x + 1)- ecrable.
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Even in the grave, all is not lost.
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No murmur arose from its bed, and so gently it wandered along, that the pearly pebbles upon which we loved to gaze, far down within its bosom, stirred not at all, but lay in a motionless content, each in its own old station, shining on gloriously forever.
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In me didst thou exist-and, in my death, see by this image, which is thine own, how utterly thou hast murdered thyself.
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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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If you are ever drowned or hung, be sure and make a note of your sensations.
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The object, Truth, or the satisfaction of the intellect, and the object, Passion, or the excitement of the heart, are, although attainable, to a certain extent, in poetry, far more readily attainable in prose.
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Sound loves to revel in a summer night.
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This maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.
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