I remained too much inside my head and ended up losing my mind 
I'm a writer. Therefore, I am not sane. 
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore. 
I call to mind flatness and dampness; and then all is madness - the madness of a memory which busies itself among forbidden things. 
A poem deserves its title only inasmuch as it excites, by elevating the soul. 
Never to suffer would never to have been blessed. 
It was well said of a certain German book that 'er lasst sich nicht lesen" - it does not permit itself to be read. 
I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth.I heard many things in hell. 
Trust to the fickle star within. 
In reading some books we occupy ourselves chiefly with the thoughts of the author; in perusing others, exclusively with our own. 
I love me a good sheep. 
It is evident that we are hurrying onward to some exciting knowledge - some never-to-be-imparted secret, whose attainment is destruction. 
And then there stole into my fancy, like a rich musical note, the thought of what sweet rest there must be in the grave. 
His heart is a suspended lute; As soon as you touch it, it resonates. 
Villains!' I shrieked. 'Dissemble no more! I admit the deed! Tear up the planks! Here, here! It is the beating of his hideous heart! 
A fool, for example, thinks Shakespeare a great poet ... yet the fool has never read Shakespeare. 
It is a happiness to wonder; it is a happiness to dream.
Have been sufficient to establish its real character. Indeed, however 
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. 
In efforts to soar above our nature, we invariably fall below it. 
The secret of a poem, no less than a jest's prosperity, lies in the ear of him that hears it. 
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. 
But it is a trait in the perversity of human nature to reject the obvious and the ready, for the far-distant and equivocal. 
Let me glimpse inside your velvet bones. 
The world is a great ocean, upon which we encounter more tempestuous storms than calms. 
A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young. 
It was night in the lonesome OctoberOf my most immemorial year ...
Every poem should remind the reader that they are going to die. 
The depth lies in the valleys where we seek her, and not upon the mountain-tops where she is found. 
Sleep, those little slices of death - how I loathe them. 
The rain came down upon my head - Unshelter'd. And the wind rendered me mad and deaf and blind. 
LO! Death has reared himself a throneIn a strange city lying alone
In the Heaven's above, the angels, whispering to one another, can find, among their burning terms of love, none so devotional as that of 'Mother. 
I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow. 
To elevate the soul, poetry is necessary. 
When a madman appears thoroughly sane, indeed, it is high time to put him in a straight jacket. 
We had always dwelled together, beneath a tropical sun, in the Valley of the Many Colored Grass. 
I have no words - alas! - to tellThe loveliness of loving well!
Sound loves to revel in a summer night. 
When the Hours flew brightly by And not a cloud obscured the sky, My soul, lest it should truant be, Thy grace did guide to thine and 
No man who ever lived knows any more about the hereafter than you and I. 
It is with literature as with law or empire - an established name is an estate in tenure, or a throne in possession. 
There is no exquisite beauty ... without some strangeness in the proportion. 
Enough," he said; "the cough is a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough." "True - true," I replied; 
I had done a deed - what was it? 
I do believe God gave me a spark of genius, but he quenched it in misery. 
It all depends on the robber's knowledge of the loser's knowledge of the robber. - Daupin 
The look on his face frightened me terribly, but at the same time I was pleased not to be alone any more. 
The customs of the world are so many conventional follies. 
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best have gone to their eternal rest. 
The reproduction ofwhat the senses perceive in nature through the veil of the soul.
Darkness there, and nothing more. 
Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality. 
Some human memories and tearful lore, Render him terrorless: his name's No More. 
Mimes in the form of God on high mutter and mumble low and hither and tither fly, mere puppets they who come and go. 
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. 
I am a writer. Therefore, I am not sane. 
Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night. 
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 
Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day; or the agonies which are have their origins in ecstasies which might have been. 
All works of art should begin ... at the end. 
We gave him a hearty welcome, for there was nearly half as much of the entertaining as of the contemptible about the man.. 
Decorum that bug-bear which deters so many from bliss until the opportunity for bliss has forever gone by.
![Edgar Allan Poe quotes: [The daguerreotype] itself must undoubtedly be regarded as the most important, and perhaps the most extraordinary triumph of modern science.](http://www.wisefamousquotes.com/images/edgar-allan-poe-quotes-2067828.jpg "Edgar Allan Poe quotes: [The daguerreotype] itself must undoubtedly be regarded as the most important, and perhaps the most extraordinary triumph of modern science.")
[The daguerreotype] itself must undoubtedly be regarded as the most important, and perhaps the most extraordinary triumph of modern science. 
As a poet and as a mathematician, he would reason well; as a mere mathematician, he could not have reasoned at all. 
There lives no man who at some period has not been tormented, for example, by an earnest desire to tantalize a listener by circumlocution. 
In his opinion the powers of the intellect held intimate connection with the capabilities of the stomach. 
Every moment of the nightForever changing places
And they put out the star-light
With the breath from their pale faces
In the sepulchre there by the sea,In her tomb by the sounding sea.
