"It may well be doubted whether human ingenuity can construct an enigma... which human ingenuity may not, by proper application, resolve."
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"It may well be doubted whether human ingenuity can construct an enigma... which human ingenuity may not, by proper application, resolve."
"I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat."
"Even in the grave, all is not lost."
"In death - no! even in the grave all is not lost. Else there is no immortality for man. Arousing from the most profound slumbers, we break the gossamer web of some dream. Yet in a second afterward, (so frail may that web have been) we remember not that we have dreamed."
"There are moments when, even to the sober eye of Reason, the world of our sad humanity must assume the aspect of Hell."
"Read this and thought of you: Through joy and through sorrow, I wrote. Through hunger and through thirst, I wrote. Through good report and through ill report, I wrote. Through sunshine and through moonshine, I wrote. What I wrote it is unnecessary to say. ~ Edgar Allen Poe"
"During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country; and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it was - but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit."
"I was cautious in what I said before the young lady; for I could not be sure that she was sane; and, in fact, there was a certain restless brilliancy about her eyes that half led me to imagine she was not."
"It may be roundly asserted that human ingenuity cannot concoct a cipher which human ingenuity cannot resolve."
"There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion."
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary."
"Marking a book is literally an experience of your differences or agreements with the author. It is the highest respect you can pay him."
"Sleep, those little slices of death — how I loathe them."
"Sensations are the great things, after all. Should you ever be drowned or hung, be sure and make a note of your sensations; they will be worth to you ten guineas a sheet."
"Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words."
"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" — Merely this, and nothing more"
"I have made no money. I am as poor now as ever I was in my life - except in hope, which is by no means bankable."
"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."
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As if some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--Only this and nothing more."
"We had always dwelled together, beneath a tropical sun, in the Valley of the Many Colored Grass."