In beauty of face no maiden ever equaled her. It was the radiance of an opium-dream - an airy and spirit-lifting vision more wildly divine than the fantasies which hovered about the slumbering souls of the daughters of Delos.

Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made.

Lord help my poor soul.

Let him talk,' said Dupin, who had not thought it necessary to reply. 'Let him discourse; it will ease his conscience, I a satisfied with having defeated him in his own castle.

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore.

It is the nature of truth in general, as of some ores in particular, to be richest when most superficial.