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… — Edgar Allan Poe Copy Share Image
Out- out are the lights- out all! And, over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm, While the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the… — Edgar Allan Poe Copy Share Image
“From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were—I have not seen As others saw—I could not bring My passions from a common… — Edgar Allan Poe Copy Share Image
There is no passion in nature so demoniacally impatient, as that of him who, shuddering upon the edge of a precipice, thus meditates a… — Edgar Allan Poe Copy Share Image
To vilify a great man is the readiest way in which a little man can himself attain greatness. — Edgar Allan Poe Copy Share Image
“A skillful literary artist has constructed a tale. If wise, he has not fashioned his thoughts to accommodate his incidents; but having conceived, with… — Edgar Allan Poe Copy Share Image
“During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the… — Edgar Allan Poe Copy Share Image
Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night. — Edgar Allan Poe Copy Share Image
“I have said that the sole effect of my somewhat childish experiment—that of looking down within the tarn—had been to deepen the first singular… — Edgar Allan Poe Copy Share Image
And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams Are where thy dark eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams-- In what… — Edgar Allan Poe Copy Share Image
“Other friends have flown before — On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.” Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.” — Edgar Allan Poe Copy Share Image
“To the right and left, as far as the eye could reach, there lay outstretched, like ramparts of the world, lines of horridly black… — Edgar Allan Poe Copy Share Image
Men die nightly in their beds, wringing the hands of ghostly confessors ... on account of the hideousness of mysteries which will not suffer… — Edgar Allan Poe Copy Share Image
