Sometimes I’m terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.

If a poem hasn't ripped apart your soul; you haven't experienced poetry.

There are certain themes of which the interest is all-absorbing, but which are too entirely horrible for the purposes of legitimate fiction.

Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore- Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore- Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.

Grammar is the analysis of language.

I call to mind flatness and dampness; and then all is madness - the madness of a memory which busies itself among forbidden things.

Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,- Perched, and sat, and nothing more.