A Quote by Edgar Allan Poe

I fell in love with melancholy — © Edgar Allan Poe
I fell in love with melancholy
And so, being young and dipt in folly, I fell in love with melancholy.
I fell in love with filmmaking. I fell in love with criticism. I fell in love with theory, and it made me really dogmatic in my approach to choosing roles.
What I fell in love with as a child was 'My Fair Lady,' 'Funny Face,' 'American in Paris,' and 'Singin' in the Rain.' Just perfect movies to me and I was dancing. I started ballet when I was three. And I fell in love with those movies and fell in love with Audrey Hepburn and Leslie Caron.
I thought I would be at United for a couple of years, maybe three or four, and then go abroad somewhere. But I just fell in love with Manchester United. I fell in love with winning, fell in love with the history of the club and being part of it was something I could never have imagined.
In my great melancholy, I loved life, for I love my melancholy.
I fell in love, not deep, but I fell several times and then fell out.
Long before I fell in love with writing, I fell in love with reading. Sometimes, honestly, I feel like I'm cheating on my first love when I settle into my office chair to start work on the latest manuscript.
Writing is more about imagination than anything else. I fell in love with words. I fell in love with storytelling.
A long time ago, when I was a young dancer in New York City, I fell in love with Jimmy Dean and he fell in love with me.
I fell in love with David Bowie in 'Labyrinth'. That's probably the initial fantasy movie that I saw and fell in love with.
I found a girl, fell in love, she had a baby, and i fell in love again.
I was a kid when I read Jane Eyre and fell in love with that universe. I didn't have the acumen to say the prose is old or the prose is too complex. I just fell in love with Jane's very lonely soul, much the same way I fell in love with Frankenstein's creature for the same reason. Those old souls exist in every decade in every century.
She did not think it was true that women fell in love all at once, but rather, that they fell in love through repitition, just the way someone became brave.
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness.
I just fell in love with the weights, fell in love with training hard.
A few melancholy birds were pipping and wailing, until the round red sun sank slowly into the western shadows; then an empty silence fell
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