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For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful...more

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Even in the grave, all is not lost.

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Lord help my poor soul.

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The best things in life make you sweaty.

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Sleep, those little slices of death — how I loathe them.

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Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!

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Every poem should remind the reader that they are going to die.

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

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And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red D...more

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

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True, nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am, but why will say that I am mad?! The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, n...more