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The fever called living Is conquer'd at last.
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
Last
Living
Life
Fever
Conquer
Called
Lasts
More quotes by Edgar Allan Poe
A poem in my opinion, is opposed to a work of science by having for its immediate object, pleasure, not truth.
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Mysteries force a man to think, and so injure his health.
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We had always dwelled together, beneath a tropical sun, in the Valley of the Many Colored Grass.
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There is no beauty without some strangeness
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Quoth the Raven, Nevermore.
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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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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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Once upon a midnight dreary
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A gentleman with a pug nose is a contradiction in terms.
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And so, being young and dipt in folly, I fell in love with melancholy.
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You call it hope-that fire of fire! It is but agony of desire.
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The fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame.
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Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.
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Me volví loco, con largos intervalos de horrible cordura.
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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 boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?
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Boston: Their hotels are bad. Their pumpkin pies are delicious. Their poetry is not so good.
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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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Grammar is the analysis of language.
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The plots of God are perfect. The Universe is a plot of God.
Edgar Allan Poe