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The eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of sorrow. Options
Daemon
Posted: Friday, December 23, 2016 12:00:00 AM
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The eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of sorrow.

Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)
KSPavan
Posted: Friday, December 23, 2016 1:40:50 AM

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Quotation of the Day

The eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of sorrow.

Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)
ChristopherJohnson
Posted: Friday, December 23, 2016 2:33:44 AM

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Where is it from, I cannot remember.
Mehrdad77
Posted: Friday, December 23, 2016 2:56:28 AM

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Everything that is made beautiful and fair and lovely is made for the eye of one who sees.


Rumi
mirilli
Posted: Friday, December 23, 2016 6:35:46 AM

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Daemon wrote:
The eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of sorrow.

Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)


The eyes are the world map of our life.

Bully_rus
Posted: Friday, December 23, 2016 9:34:34 AM
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Daemon wrote:
The eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of sorrow.

Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)


There's hope that this shattered mirror multiplies not only the images of sorrow, but also something more palatable for eyes...
FounDit
Posted: Friday, December 23, 2016 10:12:31 AM

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ChristopherJohnson wrote:
Where is it from, I cannot remember.


Poe's short story The Assignation.

We should look to the past to learn from it, not destroy our future because of it — FounDit
monamagda
Posted: Friday, December 23, 2016 2:23:04 PM

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Context from:Edgar Allan Poe's Tales of Mystery and Imagination

The Assignation

Venice
Stay for me there! I will not fail
To meet thee in that hollow vale.
HENRY KING, Bishop of Chichester,
Exequy on the death of his wife


She stood alone. Her small, bare, and silvery feet gleamed in the black mirror of marble beneath her. Her hair, not as yet more than half loosened for the night from its ball-room array, clustered, amid a shower of diamonds, round and round her classical head, in curls like those of the young hyacinth. A snowy-white and gauze-like drapery seemed to be nearly the sole covering to her delicate form; but the midsummer and midnight air was hot, sullen, and still, and no motion in the statue-like form itself, stirred even the folds of that raiment of very vapour which hung around it as the heavy marble hangs around the Niobe. Yet--strange to say!--her large lustrous eyes were not turned downwards upon that grave wherein her brightest hope lay buried-- but riveted in a widely different direction! The prison of the Old Republic is, I think, the stateliest building in all Venice-- but how could that lady gaze so fixedly upon it, when beneath her lay stifling her only child? Yon dark, gloomy niche, too, yawns right opposite her chamber window--what, then, could there be in its shadows--in its architecture--in its ivy-wreathed and solemn cornices--that the Marchesa di Mentoni had not wondered at a thousand times before? Nonsense!-- Who does not remember that, at such a time as this, the eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of its sorrow, and sees in innumerable far- off places the woe which is close at hand?

Many steps above the Marchesa, and within the arch of the water-gate, stood, in full dress, the Satyr-like figure of Mentoni himself. He was occasionally occupied in thrumming a guitar, and seemed ennuye to the very death, as at intervals he gave directions for the recovery of his child. Stupefied and aghast, I had myself no power to move from the upright position I had assumed upon first hearing the shriek, and must have presented to the eyes of the agitated group a spectral and ominous appearance, as with pale countenance and rigid limbs, I floated down among them in that funereal gondola.

http://literature.org/authors/poe-edgar-allan/assignation.html

gerry
Posted: Friday, December 23, 2016 3:14:23 PM
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