There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart - an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture into aught of the sublime
Edgar Allan PoeThere is not a more disgusting spectacle under the sun than our subserviency to British criticism. It is disgusting, first, because it is truckling, servile, pusillanimous--secondly, because of its gross irrationality. We know the British to bear us little but ill will--we know that, in no case do they utter unbiased opinions of American books . . . we know all this, and yet, day after day, submit our necks to the degrading yoke of the crudest opinion that emanates from the fatherland.
Edgar Allan PoeGaily bedight, A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long, Singing a song, In search of Eldorado. But he grew oldโ This knight so boldโ And oโer his heart a shadowโ Fell as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado. And, as his strength Failed him at length, He met a pilgrim shadowโ โShadow,โ said he, โWhere can it beโ This land of Eldorado?โ โOver the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride,โ The shade replied,โ โIf you seek for Eldorado!
Edgar Allan Poe