We might say that from the impious love of liberty has been born a new tyranny – the tyranny of fools – which, in its insensible ferocity, resembles the idol of Juggernaut.
For this reason is a musical education most essential; since it causes Rhythm and Harmony to penetrate most intimately into the soul, taking the strongest hold upon it, filling it with beauty and making the man beautiful-minded... He will praise and admire the beautiful: will receive it with joy into his soul, will feed upon it, and assimilate his own condition with it.
But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the knights and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys.
I became possessed with the keenest curiosity about the whirl itself... and my principal grief was that I should never be able to tell my old companions on shore about the mysteries I should see.
I am not more sure that my soul lives, than I am that perverseness is one of the primitive impulses of the human heart –.
Nothing is more hateful to wisdom than excessive cleverness.
As for Progress it was at one time quite a nuisance, but it never progressed.
How is it that from beauty I have derived a type of unloveliness? – from the covenant of peace a simile of sorrow? But as, in ethics, evil is a consequence of good, so in fact, out of joy is sorrow born. Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day, or the agonies which are have their origin in the ecstasies which might have been.
Now, then, did my spirit fully and freely burn with more than all the fires of her own.
He is cool- cool as a cucumber.
I never knew any one so keenly alive to a joke as the king was.
Then we sallied forth into the streets arm in arm, continuing the topics of the day, or roaming far and wide until a late hour, seeking, amid the wild lights and shadows of the populous city, that infinity of mental excitement which quiet observation can afford.
If the author did not deliberately propose to himself a suggestive indefinitiveness of meaning with the view of bringing about a definitiveness of vague and therefore of spiritual effect- this, at least, arose from the silent analytical promptings of that poetic genius which, in its supreme development, embodies all orders of intellectual capacity.
That she loved me I should not have doubted; and I might have been easily aware that, in a bosom such as hers, love would have regained no ordinary passion. But in death only was I fully impressed with the strength of her affection.
Let me call myself, for the present, Willam Wilson.
It might have been midnight, or perhaps earlier, or later, for I had taken no note of time, when a sob, low, gentle, but very distinct, startled me from my revery. – I felt that it came from the bed of ebony – the bed of death. I listened in an agony of superstitious terror – but there was no repetition of the sound. I strained my vision to detect any motion in the corpse – but there was not the slightest perceptible.
I loathed her with a hatred belonging more to demon than to man.
I paid Poe nothing, since he was on staff. I should think you’d want to do better than that.
That man, as a race, should not become extinct, I saw that he must be born again.
Yet what business had I with hope?