Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

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?

In her sepulcher there by the sea — In her tomb by the sounding sea.

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

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.

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

I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.

We loved with a love that was more than love.

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"

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