I have been happy, though in a dream.I have been happy-and I love the theme:Dreams! in their vivid colouring of lifeAs in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife

One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture; A pale blue eye with a film over it.

I saw thee once – only once – years ago:I must not say how many – but not many.It was a July midnight; and from outA full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring,Sought a...

I started to drink heavily, comfortably caught in the tentacle-like clutches of alcohol.

Twas noontide of summer,And mid-time of night;And stars, in their orbits,Shone pale, thro’ the lightOf the brighter, cold moon,’Mid planets her slaves,Herself in the Heavens,Her beam on the waves.I gazed awhileOn her cold smile;Too cold–too...

Edgar Allan Poe’s writings showed me perfectly that there can be such fragile beauty and purity located in darkness and sorrow.

To HelenI saw thee once-once only-years ago;I must not say how many-but not many.It was a july midnight; and from outA full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring,Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven,There...

Hey,” said Shadow. “Huginn or Muninn, or whoever you are.” The bird turned, head tipped, suspiciously, on one side, and it stared at him with bright eyes.”Say ‘Nevermore,'” said Shadow.”Fuck you,” said the raven.

I have before suggested that a genuine blackguard is never without a pocket-handkerchief.

It’s a case of mistaken identity. It’s one big mistake. You weren’t even in the country when it happened.”Maja in the short story ‘Metro’ by Steen Langstrup

There are moments when even to the sober eye of reason, the world of our sad humanity may assume the semblance of Hell.

The man is well inside the train before the dreadful truth occurs to me. He is the man from the newspaper. The rapist. My doppelganger. My mirrored doppelganger.”William Wilson in the short story ‘Metro’ by...

The best chess-player in Christendom may be little more than the best player of chess; but proficiency in whist implies capacity for success in all those more important undertakings where mind struggles with mind.

Think of my rants and posts as they would come from Edgar, Vincent, and Dali.

From the dim regions beyond the mountains at the upper end of our encircled domain, there crept out a narrow and deep river, brighter than all save the eyes of Eleonora; and, winding stealthily about...

I was cautious in what I said before the young lady; for I could not be sure that she was sane; and, in fact, there was a certain restless brilliancy about her eyes that half...

When I was young and filled with folly, I fell in love with melancholy

The End of the Raven”On a night quite unenchanting, when the rain was downward slantingI awakened to the ranting of the man I catch mice for.Tipsy and a bit unshaven, in a tone I found...