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Edgar Allan Poe
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The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?

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Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.

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I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.

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The true genius shudders at incompleteness — and usually prefers silence to saying something which is not everything it should be.

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All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.

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With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.

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I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of Beauty.

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