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Edgar Allan Poe Quotes
1809–1849 United States
Edgar Allan Poe, born Edgar Poe (January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849) was an American author, a part of literary studies and was also considered by some peoples both the central and most major figure of the American Romanticism, and a part of the American literature. Poe is best known for his poetry and short stories, particularly his tales of mystery and the macabre.
United States 19th-century poets Critics Editors Essayists Also known as: Author:Edgar Allan Poe, E. A. Poe, Edgar Allen Poe, Edgar Poe, Poe, Poe, Edgar Allan
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112 quotes
There neither exists nor can exist any work more thoroughly dignified — more supremely noble than this very poem — this poem per se — this poem which is a poem and nothing more — this poem written solely for the poem's sake.
The Poetic Principle (1850)
"You have conquered, and I yield. Yet, henceforward art thou also dead—dead to the World, to Heaven and to Hope! In me didst thou exist—and, in my death, see by this image, which is thine own, how utterly thou hast murdered thyself."
William Wilson (1839)
I would define, in brief, the Poetry of words as the Rhythmical Creation of Beauty. Its sole arbiter is taste. With the intellect or with the conscience, it has only collateral relations. Unless incidentally, it has no concern whatever either with duty or with truth.
The Poetic Principle (1850)
And all my days are trances,
The skies they were ashen and sober;
Ulalume (1847)
The fact is that originality (unless in minds of very unusual force) is by no means a matter, as some suppose, of impulse or intuition. In general, to be found, it must be elaborately sought, and although a positive merit of the highest class, demands in its attainment less of invention than negation.
The Philosophy of Composition (1846)
During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country, and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher.
The Fall of the House of Usher (1839)
Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term "Art," I should call it "the reproduction of what the Senses perceive in Nature through the veil of the soul." The mere imitation, however accurate, of what is in Nature, entitles no man to the sacred name of "Artist".
Marginalia (1844)
It was Wilson; but he spoke no longer in a whisper, and I could have fancied that I myself was speaking while he said
William Wilson (1839)
All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of chicanery, fear, greed, imagination and poetry!
Disputed
Sleep. Those little slices of death. How I loathe them.
Misattributed
The best things in life make you sweaty
Misattributed
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