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.
Quote Detail
The ink of a pen is simply the blood of a heart
Quick Answer
What this quote page tells you
This canonical quote page keeps the full saying, the attributed author, any linked work, and the topic tags together so the quote can be cited from one stable URL.
Related Quotes
More quote cards from the same area
Love is an exorcism of angels.
If on thoughts of death we are fed,Thus, a coffin, became my bed.
Growth of consciousness does not depend on the might of the intellect but on the conviction of the heart.
Lover," she whispers, and closes her eyes.It falls upon her.Love is like dying.
There's Nothing To Hide When Your Soul Is Not Guilty....