Edgar Allan Poe Quotes

I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of Beauty.

Experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger portion of the truth arises from the seemingly irrelevant.

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.

The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.

I need scarcely observe that a poem deserves its title only inasmuch as it excites, by elevating the soul. The value of the poem is in the ratio of this elevating excitement.

Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.

The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?

It is the nature of truth in general, as of some ores in particular, to be richest when most superficial.

That man is not truly brave who is afraid either to seem or to be, when it suits him, a coward.

We loved with a love that was more than love.

Of puns it has been said that those who most dislike them are those who are least able to utter them.

I have no faith in human perfectability. I think that human exertion will have no appreciable effect upon humanity. Man is now only more active – not more happy – nor more wise, than he was 6000 years ago.

Lord, help my poor soul.

Man’s real life is happy, chiefly because he is ever expecting that it soon will be so.

If you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered.

I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity.

In criticism I will be bold, and as sternly, absolutely just with friend and foe. From this purpose nothing shall turn me.

They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.

All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.

Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.

The generous Critic fann’d the Poet’s fire, And taught the world with reason to admire.

The ninety and nine are with dreams, content but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.

In one case out of a hundred a point is excessively discussed because it is obscure; in the ninety-nine remaining it is obscure because it is excessively discussed.