Edgar Allan Poe Quotes

The ending is one of my blackest, utterly without hope of any sort.

I like dark, hopeless, beautiful tragedies.

It is said that scattered through Despair's domain are a multitude of tiny windows, hanging in the void. Each window looks out onto a different scene, being, in our world, a mirror. Sometimes you will look into a mirror and feel the eyes of Despair upon you, feel her hook catch and snag on your heart.

Come aboard if your destination is oblivion- it should be our next stop. We can sit together. You can have the window seat if you want. But it's a sad view.

There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart - an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture into aught of the sublime

The novel is born of disillusionment; the poem, of despair.

The older books were quite light-hearted. But I think most of my novels do end on a deep note of pessimism. Shadows seem to be closing in. The final conclusion isn't that life is wonderful and everything is bright and cheery and in the garden.

I love bleak things.

But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.

I will indulge my sorrows, and give way to all the pangs and fury of despair.

Humanity, you never had it to begin with.

The Opera was a very cold film, a hopeless and dark film, no hope, no love.

If human beings were shown what they're really like, they'd either kill one another as vermin, or hang themselves.

What is called an acute knowledge of human nature is mostly nothing but the observer's own weaknesses reflected back from others.

I had always thought of myself as a sanguine person, quite light and airy. But for a long while, no one could have possibly made me laugh or smile. It was awful.

To be misunderstood even by those whom one loves is the cross and bitterness of life. It is the secret of that sad and melancholy smile on the lips of great men which so few understand.

The moon has set In a bank of jet That fringes the Western sky, The pleiads seven Have sunk from heaven And the midnight hurries by; My hopes are flown And, alas! alone On my weary couch I lie.

Then black despair, The shadow of a starless night, was thrown Over the world in which I moved alone.

I cannot draw a human figure if I don't know the order of his bones, muscles or tendons. Same is that I cannot draw a human face if I don't know what's going on his mind and heart. In order to paint life one must understand not only anatomy, but what people feel and think about the world they live in. The painter who knows his own craft and nothing else will turn out to be a very superficial artist.

The time for hope is gone, and come for fear.

But I saw the pain and sadness in everything, and swirled it round my mouth like a fine wine.

Until we know what motivates the hearts and minds of men we can understand nothing outside ourselves, nor will we ever reach fulfillment as that greatest miracle of all, the human being.

It is a very melancholy reflection that men are usually so weak that it is absolutely necessary for them to know sorrow and pain to be in their right senses.

You can never tell what people have inside them until you start taking it away, one hope at a time

A world without hope, but no despair