Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.
Lord help my poor soul.
Lord, help my poor soul.
Once upon a midnight dreary
Leave my loneliness unbroken
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.
I fell in love with melancholy
And all I loved, I loved alone.
The past is a pebble in my shoe.
And I fell violently on my face.
Blood was its Avatar and its seal.
Art is to look at not to criticize.
Yes," I said, "for the love of God!
Even in the grave, all is not lost.
Grammar is the analysis of language.
Books, indeed, were his sole luxuries
Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance.
Sound loves to revel in a summer night.
The best things in life make you sweaty.
Invisible things are the only realities.
False hope is nicer than no hope at all.
Stupidity is a talent for misconception.
To elevate the soul, poetry is necessary.
Convinced myself, I seek not to convince.
The believer is happy. The doubter is wise.
There is no beauty without some strangeness
The true genius shudders at incompleteness.
I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.
All works of art should begin... at the end.
We loved with a love that was more than love.
A wise man hears one word and understands two.
The fever called "living" Is conquer'd at last.
I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow.
Those who gossip with you will gossip about you.
Perversity is the human thirst for self-torture.
To observe attentively is to remember distinctly.
A mystery, and a dream, should my early life seem.
Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem.
Yet, mad am I not — and very surely do I not dream.
I intend to put up with nothing that I can put down.
Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.
Who cares how time advances? I am drinking ale today.
Deep in earth my love is lying And I must weep alone.
With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.
All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
A gentleman with a pug nose is a contradiction in terms.
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore.
Sleep, those little slices of death — how I loathe them.
If you run out of ideas follow the road; you'll get there
