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“Es baidos no nākotnes, pareizāk sakot, - no tā, ko tā nesīs. Nodrebu, domādams, ka ikviens, pat visnenozīmīgākais notikums var manas dvēseles satraukumu vērst neizturamu. Īstenībā es nebaidos no briesmām, bet no šausmām, ko tās izraisa. Savā nožēlojamā, drosmi paralizējošā stāvoklī jūtu, ka agrāk vai vēlāk pienāks diena, kad cīņā ar nepielūdzamo rēgu- BAILĒM, būs jāatsakās ne vien no dzīves, bet arī no saprāta.”
― Edgar Allan Poe, Tales of Mystery and Imagination

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! — Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by Horror haunted ”
― Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven

“Cei învăţaţi să citească în stele ştiau totuşi că faţa cerurilor prevestea nenorocire.”
― Edgar Allan Poe, Shadow: A Parable

“I.
In the greenest of our valleys,
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace -
Radiant palace - reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion -
It stood there !
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair.
II.
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow;
(This - all this - was in the olden
Time long ago)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.
III.
Wanderers in that happy valley
Through two luminous windows saw
Spirits moving musically
To a lute's well-tunéd law,
Round about a throne, where sitting
(Porphyrogene !)
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
IV.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
V.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate ;
(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him, desolate !)
And, round about his home, the glory
That blushed and bloomed
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
VI.
And travellers now within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows, see
Vast forms that move fantastically
To a discordant melody ;
While, like a rapid ghastly river,
Through the pale door,
A hideous throng rush out forever,
And laugh - but smile no more.”
― Edgar Allan Poe, The Fall of the House of Usher and Other Tales