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If we cannot comprehend God in his visible works, how then in his inconceivable thoughts, that call the works into being?
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
Comprehend
Visible
Works
Thoughts
Call
Cannot
Mind
Inconceivable
More quotes by Edgar Allan Poe
The mental features discoursed of as the analytical, are, in themselves, but little susceptible of analysis. We appreciate them only in their effects. We know of them, among other things, that they are always to their possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source of the liveliest enjoyment.
Edgar Allan Poe
In reading some books we occupy ourselves chiefly with the thoughts of the author in perusing others, exclusively with our own.
Edgar Allan Poe
Alas! for that accursed time They bore thee o'er the billow, From love to titled age and crime, And an unholy pillow! From me, and from our misty clime, Where weeps the silver willow!
Edgar Allan Poe
To see distinctly the machinery--the wheels and pinions--of any work of Art is, unquestionably, of itself, a pleasure, but one which we are able to enjoy only just in proportion as we do not enjoy the legitimate effect designed by the artist.
Edgar Allan Poe
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore - Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore! Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.
Edgar Allan Poe
The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls.
Edgar Allan Poe
If a man deceives me once, shame on him if he deceives me twice, shame on me.
Edgar Allan Poe
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.
Edgar Allan Poe
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door — Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door — This it is, and nothing more.
Edgar Allan Poe
With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.
Edgar Allan Poe
Dreams are the eraser dust I blow off my page. They fade into the emptiness, another dark gray day. Dreams are only memories of the plans I had back then. Dreams are eraser dust and now I use a pen.
Edgar Allan Poe
The rain came down upon my head - Unshelter'd. And the wind rendered me mad and deaf and blind.
Edgar Allan Poe
The best things in life make you sweaty.
Edgar Allan Poe
I am walking like a bewitched corpse, with the certainty of being eaten by the infinite, of being annulled by the only existing Absurd.
Edgar Allan Poe
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.
Edgar Allan Poe
And travellers, now, within that valley, Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms, that move fantastically To a discordant melody, While, like a ghastly rapid river, Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out forever And laugh — but smile no more.
Edgar Allan Poe
In spite of the air of fablethe public were still not at all disposed to receive it as fable. I thence concluded that the facts of my narrative would prove of such a nature as to carry with them sufficient evidence of their own authenticity.
Edgar Allan Poe
There are some secrets which do not permit themselves to be told.
Edgar Allan Poe
Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term Art, I should call it 'the reproduction of what the Senses perceive in Nature through the veil of the soul.' The mere imitation, however accurate, of what is in Nature, entitles no man to the sacred name of 'Artist.'
Edgar Allan Poe
Every moment of the night Forever changing places And they put out the star-light With the breath from their pale faces
Edgar Allan Poe