And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- This it is, and nothing more.

I have graven it within the hills, and my vengeance upon the dust within the rock.

At three in the morning the gaudy paint is off that old whore, the world, and she has no nose and a glass eye. Gaiety becomes hollow and brittle, as in Poe's castle surrounded by the Red Death. Horror is destroyed by boredom. Love is a dream.

It isn't fair, it isn't right," Mrs. Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon her.

I blush, I burn, I shudder, while I pen the damnable atrocity.

The mind is a thing capable of destroying itself when deep grief sets in, and when left alone to muse over one__ misery, the most irreparable damage can be done. You need people to heal.