Sensations are the great things, after all. Should you ever be drowned or hung, be sure and make a note of your sensations; they will be worth to you ten guineas a sheet.
Out- out are the lights- out all! And, over each quivering form,The curtain, a funeral pall,Comes down with the rush of a storm,While the angels, all pallid and wan,Uprising, unveiling, affirm
And travellers, now, within that valley, Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms, that move fantastically To a discordant melody, While, like a ghastly rapid river, Through the pale door
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp...
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you— here I opened wide the door; — Darkness there, and nothing more.
And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the sense? --now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cott...
Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute.
We grew in age - and love - togetherRoaming the forest, and the wild;My breast her shield in wintry weather -And, when the friendly sunshine smil'd,And she would mark the opening skies,I saw no Heaven...
Villains!' I shrieked. 'Dissemble no more! I admit the deed! Tear up the planks! Here, here! It is the beating of his hideous heart!
True! - nervous - very, very nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad?
I was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory conclusion, that while, beyond doubt, there are combinations of very simple natural objects which have the power of thus affecting us, still the analy...
By a route obscure and lonelyHaunted by ill angels only,Where an eidolon, named NIGHT,On a black throne reigns upright,I have reached these lands but newlyFrom an ultimate dim Thule
A million candles have burned themselves out. Still I read on. (Montresor)
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one g...
I heed not that my earthly lot Hath - little of Earth in it -That years of love have been forgot In the hatred of a minute: -I mourn not that the desolate Are happier, sweet, than I,
But see, amid the mimic routA crawling shape intrude!A blood-red thing that writhes from outThe scenic solitude!It writhes!- it writhes!- with mortal pangsThe mimes become its food,And seraphs sob at...
And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.