Edgar Allan Poe
The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.
The rudiment of verse may, possibly, be found in the spondee.
I have, indeed, no abhorrence of danger, except in its absolute effect – in terror.
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.
It will be found, in fact, that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the truly imaginative never otherwise than analytic.
That man is not truly brave who is afraid either to seem or to be, when it suits him, a coward.
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.
To vilify a great man is the readiest way in which a little man can himself attain greatness.
There are few cases in which mere popularity should be considered a proper test of merit; but the case of song-writing is, I think, one of the few.
Of puns it has been said that those who most dislike them are those who are least able to utter them.
It is the nature of truth in general, as of some ores in particular, to be richest when most superficial.
The generous Critic fann’d the Poet’s fire, And taught the world with reason to admire.
In one case out of a hundred a point is excessively discussed because it is obscure; in the ninety-nine remaining it is obscure because it is excessively discussed.
With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.