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Tell me truly, I implore-- Is there-- is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!
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
Truly
Tell
Implore
Balm
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Blood was its Avatar and its seal.
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The plots of God are perfect. The Universe is a plot of God.
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If the propositions of this Discourse are tenable, the state of progressive collapse is precisely that state in which alone we are warranted in considering All Things.
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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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Sound loves to revel in a summer night.
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-ev'n with us the breath Of Science dims the mirror of our joy.
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If we examine a work of ordinary art, by means of a powerful microscope, all traces of resemblance to nature will disappear - but the closest scrutiny of the photogenic drawing discloses only a more absolute truth, a more perfect identity of aspect with the thing represented.
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Me volví loco, con largos intervalos de horrible cordura.
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I might refer at once, if necessary, to a hundred well authenticated instances. One of very remarkable character, and of which the circumstances may be fresh in the memory of some of my readers, occurred, not very long ago, in the neighboring city of Baltimore, where it occasioned a painful, intense, and widely extended excitement.
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With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.
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With me poetry has been not a purpose, but a passion and the passions should be held in reverence: they must not they cannot at will be excited, with an eye to the paltry compensations, or the more paltry commendations, of mankind.
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You call it hope-that fire of fire! It is but agony of desire.
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[E]very plot, worth the name, must be elaborated to its dénouement before anything be attempted with the pen. It is only with the dénouement constantly in view that we can plot its indispensable air of consequence, or causation, by making the incidents, and especially the tone at all points tend to the development of the intention.
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Fill with mingled cream and amber, I will drain that glass again. Such hilarious visions clamber Through the chamber of my brain — Quaintest thoughts — queerest fancies Come to life and fade away What care I how time advances? I am drinking ale today.
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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary.
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I have been happy, though in a dream. I have been happy-and I love the theme: Dreams! in their vivid colouring of life As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
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If you are ever drowned or hung, be sure and make a note of your sensations.
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As the strong man exults in his physical ability, delighting in such exercises as call his muscles into action, so glories the analyst in that moral activity which disentangles.
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Quoth the Raven, Nevermore.
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