Edgar Allan Poe

No man of mere talent ever flung his inkstand at the devil.

The loveliness of loving well!

It is hardly possible to conceive the extremity of my terror.

Being little of a cynic, I had all the sentiments of a dog.

Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!

In no affairs of mere prejudice, pro or con, do we deduce inferences with entire certainty, even from the most simple data.

Who does not remember that, at such a time as this, the eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of its sorrow, and sees in innumerable far-off places, the woe which is close at hand?

Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?

These difficulties, however, so far from abating my desire, only added fuel to the flame.

I am dying, yet shall I live.

The melancholy waters lie.

Had a thousand lives hung upon the movement of a limb or the utterance of a syllable, I could have neither stirred nor spoken.

That he was unique appeared so undeniable, that it was deemed impertinent to inquire wherein the uniquity consisted.

Our flowers are merely⁠—flowers,

He might as well have spoken to the winds.

The loss of the eye was not so much as the insolent air of independence and contempt with which it regarded me after it was out.

To the glory that was Greece,

Thus, in far less time than I have taken to tell it, we found ourselves masters of the brig.

I grew perfectly sober in an instant.

To the grandeur that was Rome.