"I chose not to choose life. I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs resons when you've got heroin?"
Renton: "Sick Boy's always been lacking in moral fiber."
Swanney: "He knows alot about Sean Connery."
Renton: "That's hardly a sustitute."
Annabel Lee
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know,
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
She was a child and I was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love -
I and my Annabel Lee -
With a love that winged the seraphs of Heaven
Covered her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the see;
A wind flew out of a cloud by night
Chilling my Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me -
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud, chilling
And killing my Annabel Lee
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we -
Of many far wiser than we -
And neither the angels in Heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: -
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:
And so, all the night tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride.
In the sepulchre there by the sea -
In her tomb by the side of the sea.
-by Edgar A. Poe
Lo! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
...
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly --
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping out their condor wings
Invisible Wo!
...
That motley drama! --oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its phantom chased forever more,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of madness and more of Sin
And Horror the soul of the plot.
...
But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes! --it writhes! --with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
...
Out --out are the lights --out all!
And over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all pallid and wane,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.
-Edgar A. Poe
Gaily bedight,
A gallent knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado
...
But he grew old -
This knight so bold -
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
...
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgram shadow-
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be -
This land of Eldorado?"
...
"Over the mountains
Of the moon,
Down the valley of the shadow,
Ride, boldly ride."
The shade replied-
"If you seek for Eldorado!"
-Edgar A. Poe
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