Defining Quotes from The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe

I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night.

And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the senses?

Why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them.

I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.

Villains! I shrieked. Dissemble no more! I admit the deed! Tear up the planks! Here, here! It is the beating of his hideous heart!

I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die!

His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness… and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door.

The old man’s terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment!

The beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst.

How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story.

And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror.

Every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it — oh so gently!

You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me.

If you still think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body.

True, nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am, but why will you say that I am mad?

I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold, I had no desire. I think it was his eye! Yes, it was this!

You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing.

I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him.

And now, have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the senses?

There came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton.

If you still think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body.

I knew that sound well too. It was the beating of the old man’s heart.

In an instant, I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him.

For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime, I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed listening; just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall.

Villains! I shrieked. Dissemble no more! I admit the deed! Tear up the planks! Here, here! It is the beating of his hideous heart.

And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it ? oh so gently!

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night.

I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell.

The old man’s hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room.

You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me.

I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men?but the noise steadily increased. O God! what could I do? I foamed?I raved?I swore!

I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.

Was it not his eye that made the blood run cold in my body, made my heart pound in my chest? Yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture. A pale, blue eye that froze my bones.

He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this!

His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness… and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.

Death, in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him, and enveloped the victim.

His eye would trouble me no more.

I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man’s heart.