Yes," I said, "for the love of God!

Villains!' I shrieked. 'Dissemble no more! I admit the deed! Tear up the planks! Here, here! It is the beating of his hideous heart!

Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day; or the agonies which are have their origins in ecstasies which might have been.

In the one instance, the dreamerloses sight of this object in a wilderness of deductions and suggestionsuntilhe finds the incitamentum, or first cause of his musings,... forgotten. In my case, the primary object was invariably frivolous, although assuming, through the medium of my distempered vision, a refracted and unreal importance.

That the play is the tragedy, “Man,” And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.

In efforts to soar above our nature, we invariably fall below it.

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.