And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor:And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted - nevermore!
by Edgar Allan Poe
(0 Reviews)

In Edgar Allan Poe's poem, the presence of the raven symbolizes a haunting reminder of loss and despair. The raven's unwavering position on the bust of Pallas above the narrator's door emphasizes its role as a sentinel, reflecting the narrator's sorrow and incapacity to escape from the memories that torment him. This imagery conveys a sense of inevitability regarding grief and the permanence of his emotional state.

The description of the raven's eyes as reminiscent of a dreaming demon adds a layer of darkness and foreboding to the poem. The interplay of light and shadow illustrates the struggle between hope and despair. Ultimately, the narrator feels that his soul is trapped, forever burdened by the shadow of the raven, suggesting an inescapable fate marked by the absence of relief or solace—"nevermore." This powerful closing notion underscores the lasting impact of trauma and the idea that some losses echo indefinitely.

Stats

Categories
Votes
0
Page views
1
Update
February 04, 2025

Rate the Quote

Add Comment & Review

User Reviews

Based on 0 reviews
5 Star
0
4 Star
0
3 Star
0
2 Star
0
1 Star
0
Add Comment & Review
We'll never share your email with anyone else.
More »

Other quotes in book quote

More »

Popular quotes

My life amounts to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean. Yet what is any ocean, but a multitude of drops?
by David Mitchell
A half-read book is a half-finished love affair.
by David Mitchell
Small towns are like metronomes; with the slightest flick, the beat changes.
by Mitch Albom
Travel far enough, you meet yourself.
by David Mitchell
Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.
by David Mitchell
Look, if you say that science will eventually prove there is no God, on that I must differ. No matter how small they take it back, to a tadpole, to an atom, there is always something they can't explain, something that created it all at the end of the search. And no matter how far they try to go the other way – to extend life, play around with the genes, clone this, clone that, live to one hundred and fifty – at some point, life is over. And then what happens? When the life comes to an end? I shrugged. You see? He leaned back. He smiled. When you come to the end, that's where God begins.
by Mitch Albom
The pollenless trees were genomed to repel bugs and birds; the stagnant air reeked of insecticide.
by David Mitchell
A random sequence of seemingly unrelated events.
by David Mitchell
People pontificate, "Suicide is selfishness." Career churchmen like Pater go a step further and call in a cowardly assault on the living. Oafs argue this specious line for varying reason: to evade fingers of blame, to impress one's audience with one's mental fiber, to vent anger, or just because one lacks the necessary suffering to sympathize. Cowardice is nothing to do with it - suicide takes considerable courage. Japanese have the right idea. No, what's selfish is to demand another to endure an intolerable existence, just to spare families, friends, and enemies a bit of soul-searching.
by David Mitchell
You say you should have died instead of me. But during my time on earth, people died instead of me, too. It happens every day. When lightning strikes a minute after you are gone, or an airplane crashes that you might have been on. When your colleague falls ill and you do not. We think such things are random. But there is a balance to it all. One withers, another grows. Birth and death are part of a whole.
by Mitch Albom