“Even in the grave, all is not lost.”

“In the deepest slumber-no! In delirium-no! In a swoon-no! In death-no! even in the grave all is not lost.”

“In death - no! even in the grave all is not lost. Else there is no immortality for man. Arousing from the most profound slumbers, we break the gossamer web of some dream. Yet in a second afterward, (so frail may that web have been) we remember not that we have dreamed.”

“Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made.”

“And then there stole into my fancy, like a rich musical note, the thought of what sweet rest there must be in the grave.”

“Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!”

“Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore —Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.”