All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.
I have great faith in fools; self-confidence my friends call it.
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.
I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.
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.
Man’s real life is happy, chiefly because he is ever expecting that it soon will be so.
Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.
Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow – You are not wrong who deem, That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.
The true genius shudders at incompleteness – and usually prefers silence to saying something which is not everything it should be.
They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.
We loved with a love that was more than love.
It is so surprising that Edgar Allen Poe was a dark, mysterious man. He wrote stories about greusome things and depressing poems tha would nest in the back of your mind until you are dead. But he also had a sense of life inside of him like no other. The ability to the the worst in the dark, gave him the ability to see better in the light. Which also gave him insight. Now im not saying that being dark, and evil will give you knowledge and wisdom. Im saying that he got wisdom…but…haha…not from God.
