Literature is the most noble of professions. In fact, it is about the only one fit for a man.
Edgar Allan PoeAnd travellers, now, within that valley, Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms, that move fantastically To a discordant melody, While, like a ghastly rapid river, Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out forever And laugh — but smile no more.
Edgar Allan PoeBeauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.
Edgar Allan Poe