Edgar Allan Poe Quotes and its meanings

Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term Art, I should call it 'the reproduction of what the Senses perceive in Nature through the veil of the soul.' The mere imitation, however accurate, of what is in Nature, entitles no man to the sacred name of 'Artist.'

Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.

Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.

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

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?

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?

The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.

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

The ninety and nine are with dreams, content but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.

Experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger portion of the truth arises from the seemingly irrelevant.

I have no faith in human perfectability. I think that human exertion will have no appreciable effect upon humanity. Man is now only more active - not more happy - nor more wise, than he was 6000 years ago.

I have great faith in fools self-confidence my friends call it.

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

There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man.

It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.

I have great faith in fools self-confidence my friends call it.

To vilify a great man is the readiest way in which a little man can himself attain greatness.

The ninety and nine are with dreams, content but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.

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

Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night.

The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.

Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence.

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?

Man's real life is happy, chiefly because he is ever expecting that it soon will be so.

There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man.

We loved with a love that was more than love.

A strong argument for the religion of Christ is this - that offences against Charity are about the only ones which men on their death-beds can be made - not to understand - but to feel - as crime.

Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term Art, I should call it 'the reproduction of what the Senses perceive in Nature through the veil of the soul.' The mere imitation, however accurate, of what is in Nature, entitles no man to the sacred name of 'Artist.'

It is the nature of truth in general, as of some ores in particular, to be richest when most superficial.

I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.

Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.

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

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

Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.

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

A strong argument for the religion of Christ is this - that offences against Charity are about the only ones which men on their death-beds can be made - not to understand - but to feel - as crime.

Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence.

The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.

Experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger portion of the truth arises from the seemingly irrelevant.

It is the nature of truth in general, as of some ores in particular, to be richest when most superficial.