After all, what is it?- this indescribable something which men will persist in terming "genius"? I agree with Buffon- with Hogarth- it is but diligence after all.
Look at me!- how I labored- how I toiled- how I wrote! Ye Gods, did I not write? I knew not the word "ease." By day I adhered to my desk, and at night, a pale student, I consumed the midnight oil. You should have seen me- you should. I leaned to the right. I leaned to the left. I sat forward. I sat backward. I sat tete baissee (as they have it in the Kickapoo), bowing my head close to the alabaster page. And, through all, I- wrote. Through joy and through sorrow, I-wrote. Through hunger and through thirst, I-wrote. Through good report and through ill report- I wrote. Through sunshine and through moonshine, I-wrote. What I wrote it is unnecessary to say. The style!- that was the thing. I caught it from Fatquack- whizz!- fizz!- and I am giving you a specimen of it now.
Ceux qui revent eveilles ont conscience de 1000 choses qui echapent a ceux qui ne revent qu'endormis.
The one who has day dream are aware of 1000 things that the one who dreams only when he sleeps will never understand.
(it sounds better in french, I do what I can with my translation...)
Mots clés conscience french poe rêve endormi
The best chess-player in Christendom may be little more than the best player of chess; but proficiency in whist implies capacity for success in all those more important undertakings where mind struggles with mind.
Edgar Allan PoeMots clés horror edgar-allan-poe rue-morgue
I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.
Edgar Allan PoeMots clés inspiration
تنها
من از کودکی چنان نبوده ام که دیگران،
چنان ندیده ام که دیگران؛
از بهاری همگانی نمی توانستم به هیجان درآیم
چنانکه آن بهار مرا اندوهگین نیز نمی کرد و
نمی توانستم قلبم را برای لذت بردن از آهنگ آن بیدار کنم.
آنگاه در کودکی ام – در سپیده دم طوفانی ترین زندگی-
که با همه ی خوشی ها و ناخوشی ها آمیخته شده بود،
معمایی مرا به خود گرفتار کرد که هنوز هم نتوانسته ام خود را از چنبره اش رها کنم؛
از رود سیل آسا یا چشمه
از سنگ سرخ کوه
از آفتابی که در پاییز طلایی دور من می گردید
از آذرخش آسمانی که پروار کنان از من عبور می کرد
از طوفان و از کولاک
و ابری که شکل یک شیطان را در نظرگاه من به خود گرفت (درحالیکه باقی جهنم به رنگ آبی بود)
Mots clés poem
By a route obscure and lonely
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule --
From a wild, weird clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of SPACE, out of TIME.
Mots clés poetry
Villains!' I shrieked. 'Dissemble no more! I admit the deed! Tear up the planks! Here, here! It is the beating of his hideous heart!
Edgar Allan PoeMots clés confession
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Mots clés love beautiful lost-love
He is, as you say, a remarkable horse, a prodigious horse, although as you very justly observe, a suspicious and untractable character.
Edgar Allan PoeA dirge for her the doubly dead
in that she died so young.
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