[b]Edgar Allan Poe
Philosophers have often held dispute
As to the seat of thought in man and brute
For that the power of thought attends the latter
My friend, thy beau, hath made a settled matter,
And spite of dogmas current in all ages,
One settled fact is better than ten sages. [/b]
Facts have always worked for me.
Out- out are the lights- out all! And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
Of course the worms don’t know that.
That man is not truly brave who is afraid either to seem or to be, when it suits him, a coward.
I’m always up for it.
I continued, as was my wont, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile now was at the thought of his immolation.
On the other hand, that’s probably his wont too.
I was cautious in what I said before the young lady; for I could not be sure that she was sane; and, in fact, there was a certain restless brilliancy about her eyes that half led me to imagine she was not.
Nothing to do here but roll the dice.
There are few persons, even among the calmest thinkers, who have not occasionally been startled into a vague yet thrilling half credence in the supernatural, by coincidences of so seemingly marvellous a character that, as mere coincidences, the intellect has been unable to receive them.
Go ahead, ask me about Gary Crigger.