Men die nightly in their beds, wringing the hands of ghostly confessors ... on account of the hideousness of mysteries which will not suffer themselves to be revealed.

(Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. author. Published simultaneously in The Casket. "The Man of the Crowd," Gentleman's Magazine (1840). Aborted confessions, the main theme in Poe's fiction and poetry.)

You need not attempt to shake off or to banter off Romance. It is an evil you will never get rid of to the end of your days. It is a part of yourself ... of your soul. Age will only mellow it a little, and give it a holier tone.

(Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. author. The Letters of Edgar Allan Poe, letter, September 21, 1839, to Philip P. Cooke, ed. John Ward Ostrom (1966). Romance, embraced and transfigured.)

During these fits of absolute unconsciousness I drank, God only knows how often or how much. As a matter of course, my enemies referred the insanity to the drink rather than the drink to the insanity. I had indeed, nearly abandoned all hope of a permanent cure when I found one in the death of my wife.

(Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. author. The Letters of Edgar Allan Poe, letter, January 4, 1848, to George W. Eveleth, ed. John Ward Ostrom (1966). Poe's life-long battles with alcohol and melancholia.)

The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure ...: buffoons,... improvisatori,... ballet-dancers,... musicians,... Beauty,... wine. All these and security were within. Without was the "Red Death."

(Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. author. "The Masque of the Red Death," Graham's Magazine (1842). Illusions mobilized to oppose the death instinct.)

As the strong man exults in his physical ability, delighting in such exercises as call his muscles into action, so glories the analyst in that moral activity which disentangles.

(Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1845), U.S. poet, critic, short-story writer. The Murders in the Rue Morgue (1841).)

Of late, eternal Condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky.

(Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. poet. Romance (l. 11-15). . . Complete Poems and Selected Essays [Edgar Allan Poe]. Richard Gray, ed. (1993) Everyman.)

The want of an international Copy-Right Law, by rendering it nearly impossible to obtain anything from the booksellers in the way of remuneration for literary labor, has had the effect of forcing many of our very best writers into the service of the Magazines and Reviews.

(Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. author. "Some Secrets of the Magazine Prison-House," Broadway Journal (1845). Poe's heroic crusade for the recognition of literary genius.)

The waves have now a redder glow?
The hours are breathing faint and low?
And when, amid no earthly moans,
Down, down that town shall settle hence,
Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,
Shall do it reverence.

(Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. poet. The City in the Sea (l. 48-53). . . Complete Poems and Selected Essays [Edgar Allan Poe]. Richard Gray, ed. (1993) Everyman.)

There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man.

(Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1845), U.S. poet, critic, short-story writer. The Black Cat (1854).)

Hear the sledges with the bells?
Silver bells!

(Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. poet. The Bells (l. 1-2). . . Complete Poems and Selected Essays [Edgar Allan Poe]. Richard Gray, ed. (1993) Everyman.)