The Eye, Like A Shattered Mirror, Multiplies

There Is No Beauty Without Some Strangeness

A Million Candles Have Burned Themselves Out. Still I Read On. (montresor)

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.

Perversity Is The Human Thirst For Self-torture.

And Now Have I Not Told You That What You Mistake For Madness Is But Overacuteness Of The Senses?