Mysteries force a man to think, and so injure his health.
Interpretation
This quote suggests that pondering over complex mysteries can lead to detrimental effects on one's mental health.
Edgar Allan Poe's quote reflects on the burden that mysteries place on human consciousness. The act of confronting and pondering life's enigmas can become overwhelming, causing stress and anxiety that may ultimately affect an individual's well-being. It highlights the intellectual struggle that many face when grappling with unanswered questions and the potential toll it takes on health.
In practice
In a philosophical discussion about the impact of unresolved questions on mental well-being.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch's high estate; (Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow Shall dawn upon him desolate!) And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed, Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed.
Most writers - poets in especial - prefer having it understood that they compose by a species of fine frenzy - an ecstatic intuition - and would positively shudder at letting the public take a peep behind the scenes.
...the agony of my soul found vent in one loud, long and final scream of despair.
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best have gone to their eternal rest.
I could have clasped the red walls to my bosom as a garment of eternal peace. "Death," I said, "any death but that of the pit!" Fool! might I have not known that into the pit it was the object of the burning iron to urge me?
In our endeavors to recall to memory something long forgotten, we often find ourselves upon the very verge of remembrance, without being able, in the end, to remember.
There is mercy for everyone, except those who are bored with life.
It is myself I have never met whose face is pasted on the underside of my mind
Memory is a barricade against forgetting; light is a bulwark against darkness; life is a flex against the stillness of the grave. Maybe that's what I'm trying to do here, clear a space in all the debris, through all the anxieties and worries, where I can just exist, easily and simply, entire, for as long as I have left.
Who can hope to be safe? who sufficiently cautious?_x000D_ _x000D_ Guard himself as he may, every moment's an ambush.
No one ever lacks a good reason for suicide.
I have to live for others and not for myself: that's middle-class morality.
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