Edgar Allan Poe Quotes

Never to suffer would never to have been blessed.

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.

All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.

If you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered.

I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.

And so being young and dipped in folly I fell in love with melancholy.

It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.

Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.

I have no faith in human perfectability. I think that human exertion will have no appreciable effect upon humanity. Man is now only more active - not more happy - nor more wise, than he was 6000 years ago.

Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.

And all I loved, I loved alone.

Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.

I remained to much inside my head and ended up losing my mind

With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.

I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of Beauty.

Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.

There is no beauty without some strangeness

Convinced myself, I seek not to convince.

The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls...

Stupidity is a talent for misconception.

All suffering originates from craving, from attachment, from desire.

Filled with mingled cream and amber I will drain that glass again. Such hilarious visions clamber Through the chambers of my brain — Quaintest thoughts — queerest fancies Come to life and fade away; Who cares how time advances? I am drinking ale today

Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow— 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.

The ninety and nine are with dreams, content but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.

Experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger portion of the truth arises from the seemingly irrelevant.

In criticism I will be bold, and as sternly, absolutely just with friend and foe. From this purpose nothing shall turn me.

If a poem hasn't ripped apart your soul; you haven't experienced poetry.

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, Shall be lifted — Nevermore!

To vilify a great man is the readiest way in which a little man can himself attain greatness.

There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man.

Reality is the #1 cause of insanity among those who are in contact with it

That man is not truly brave who is afraid either to seem or to be, when it suits him, a coward.

And the Raven, never flitting, Still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas Just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming Of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming Throws his shadow on the floor, And my soul from out that shadow, That lies floating on the floor, Shall be lifted - nevermore.

That pleasure which is at once the most pure, the most elevating and the most intense, is derived, I maintain, from the contemplation of the beautiful.

It will be found, in fact, that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the truly imaginative never otherwise than analytic.

Thank Heaven! The crisis /The danger is past, and the lingering illness, is over at last /, and the fever called ''Living'' is conquered at last.

There are few cases in which mere popularity should be considered a proper test of merit; but the case of song-writing is, I think, one of the few.

From childhood's hour I have not beenAs others were; I have not seenAs others saw

After reading all that has been written, and after thinking all that can be thought, on the topics of God and the soul, the man who has a right to say that he thinks at all, will find himself face to face with the conclusion that, on these topics, the most profound thought is that which can be the least easily distinguished from the most superficial sentiment.

Man's real life is happy, chiefly because he is ever expecting that it soon will be so.

The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.

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 mist

Yet I am not more sure that my soul lives, than I am that perverseness is one of the primitive impulses of the human heartone of the indivisible primary faculties, or sentiments, which give direction to the character of Man.

The true genius shudders at incompleteness - and usually prefers silence to saying something which is not everything it should be.