Poet, storyteller, and critic, Edgar Allan Poe is one of the most highly regarded writers of American literature. His originality is his hallmark. At his time, however, there was a lot of criticism about his neuroticism, glorification of death, and other unacceptable concepts. This is a collection of some of the most famous Edgar Allan Poe quotes. If you want me to include your favorite Edgar Allan Poe quotes on this site, please fill out the quotation suggestion form
- Sound loves to revel in a summer night.
- All that we see or seem, Is but a dream within a dream.
- Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute.
- To the glory that was Greece, And the grandeur that was Rome.
- From a proud tower in the town, Death looks gigantically down.
- Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
- This maiden she lived with no other thought, Than to love and be loved by me.
- And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, Shall be lifted -- Nevermore!
- Can it be fancied that Deity ever vindictively, Made in his image a mannikin merely to madden it?
- I would define, in brief, the Poetry of words as the Rhythmical Creation of Beauty. Its sole arbiter is Taste.
- Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
- And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain, Thrilled me -- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before.
- Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dreamed before.
- Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells, From the bells, bells, bells.
- Hear the mellow wedding bells, Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells, Through the balmy air of night, How they ring out their delight!
- And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams, Are where thy dark eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams -- In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams.
- The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crisped and sere -- The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October, Of my most immemorial year.
- The object, Truth, or the satisfaction of the intellect, and the object, Passion, or the excitement of the heart, are, although attainable, to a certain extent, in poetry, far more readily attainable in prose.