Today for all you triskaidekaphobiacs I thought I’d share some of my favorite quotes from Edgar A. Poe. Enjoy!
My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame.
–‘The Black Cat’ (1843)
TRUE!—nervous—very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses—not destroyed—not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken!
–‘The Tell-Tale Heart’ (1843)
Of Madame L’Espanaye no traces were here seen; but an unusual quantity of soot being observed in the fire-place, a search was made in the chimney, and (horrible to relate!) the corpse of the daughter, head downward, was dragged therefrom; it having been thus forced up the narrow aperture for a considerable distance. The body was quite warm.
–‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’ (1841)
I WAS sick—sick unto death with that long agony; and when they at length unbound me, and I was permitted to sit, I felt that my senses were leaving me. The sentence—the dread sentence of death—was the last of distinct accentuation which reached my ears.
–‘The Pit and the Pendulum’ (1842)
A feeling, for which I have no name, has taken possession of my soul —a sensation which will admit of no analysis, to which the lessons of bygone times are inadequate, and for which I fear futurity itself will offer me no key.
–‘Ms. Found in a Bottle’ (1833)
Not hear it?—yes, I hear it, and have heard it. Long—long—long—many minutes, many hours, many days, have I heard it—yet I dared not—oh, pity me, miserable wretch that I am!—I dared not—I dared not speak! We have put her living in the tomb! Said I not that my senses were acute? I now tell you that I heard her first feeble movements in the hollow coffin…
–‘The Fall of the House of Usher’ (1839)
The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.
–‘The Philosophy of Composition’ (1846)
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
–from a letter written by Poe