In our endeavors to recall to memory something long forgotten, we often find ourselves upon the very verge of remembrance, without being able, in the end, to remember.

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!

But as, in ethics, evil is a consequence of good, so, in fact, out of joy is sorrow born. Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of today, or the agonies which are have their origin in the ecstasies which might have been.

It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.

Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.

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