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-ev'n with us the breath Of Science dims the mirror of our joy.

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
Mirror
Breath
Breaths
Mirrors
Joy
Science
Dims

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Reality is the #1 cause of insanity among those who are in contact with it
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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!
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Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!
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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.
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I could have clasped the red walls to my bosom as a garment of eternal peace. Death, I said, any death but that of the pit! Fool! might I have not known that into the pit it was the object of the burning iron to urge me?
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Indeed, there is an eloquence in true enthusiasm that is not to be doubted.
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I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea But we loved with a love that was more than love- I and my Annabel Lee With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me.
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It is the curse of a certain order of mind, that it can never rest satisfied with the consciousness of its ability to do a thing.Still less is it content with doing it. It must both know and show how it was done.
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Sensations are the great things, after all. Should you ever be drowned or hung, be sure and make a note of your sensations they will be worth to you ten guineas a sheet.
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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.
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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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To him, who still would gaze upon the glory of the summer sun, there comes, when that sun will from him part, a sullen hopelessness of heart.
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A fool, for example, thinks Shakespeare a great poet . . . yet the fool has never read Shakespeare.
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If any ambitious man have a fancy to revolutionize, at one effort, the universal world of human thought, human opinion, and human sentiment.
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All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
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The world is a great ocean, upon which we encounter more tempestuous storms than calms.
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You are not wrong who deem That my days have been a dream Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.
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Happiness is not to be found in knowledge, but in the acquisition of knowledge
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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.
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the truth is, I am heartily sick of this life & of the nineteenth century in general. (I am convinced that every thing is going wrong.)
Edgar Allan Poe