And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the senses?
Yes,” I said, “for the love of God!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.
Nemo impune me lacessit!!
From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw.
There are few persons, even among the calmest thinkers, who have not occasionally been startled into a vague yet thrilling half credence in the supernatural, by coincidences of so seemingly marvellous a character that, as mere coincidences, the intellect has been unable to receive them.
Helen, thy beauty is to me.
And the riven quote, nevermore.
To conceive the horror of my sensations is, I presume, utterly impossible; yet a curiosity to penetrate the mysteries of these awful regions predominates even over my despair, and will reconcile me to the most hideous aspect of death.
There are few persons who have not, at some period of their lives, amused themselves in retracing the steps by which particular conclusions of their own minds have been attained.
Depend upon it, after all, Thomas, Literature is the most noble of professions. In fact, it is about the only one fit for a man. For my own part, there is no seducing me from the path.
I went as a passenger, having no other inducement than a kind of nervous restlessness which haunted me as a fiend.
But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee.
Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a vile or a silly action for no other reason than because he knows he should not?
No es que me atemorizara mirar cosas horribles, sino que me aterraba la idea de no ver nada.
Ha! ha! ha! – ha! ha! ha! – ho! ho! ho!
We grew in age – and love – together Roaming the forest, and the wild; My breast her shield in wintry weather – And, when the friendly sunshine smil’d, And she would mark the opening skies, I saw no Heaven – but in her eyes.
Coincidences, in general, are great stumbling-blocks in the way of that class of thinkers who have been educated to know nothing of the theory of probabilities – that theory to which the most glorious objects of human research are indebted for the most glorious of illustration.
When I was young and filled with folly, I fell in love with melancholy.
Proprieties of place, and especially of time, are the bugbears which terrify mankind from the contemplation of the magnificent.