More Quotes by Edgar Allan Poe
Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.
There are some secrets which do not permit themselves to be told.
There is no beauty without some strangeness
The eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of sorrow
And all I loved, I loved alone.
If a poem hasn't ripped apart your soul; you haven't experienced poetry.
If you run out of ideas follow the road; you'll get there
Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence– whether much that is glorious– whether all that is profound– does not spring from disease of thought– from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect.
The world is a great ocean, upon which we encounter more tempestuous storms than calms.
All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
