Ivan: The idea of drinking something that will kill you, but having time to carry on a conversation is, as they say, fraught with dramatic possibilities.
Edgar Allan Poe: What's going on?
Detective Fields: I'm Detective Fields. Please, sit down, Mr. Poe.
Edgar Allan Poe: Yes. The infamous Detective Fields. Am I under arrest?
Detective Fields: No... not just yet.
Edgar Allan Poe: Then I'd rather stand! It makes it easier to leave.
Maddux: I believe that God gave him a spark of genius and quenched it in misery. But as far as something like this... The only thing he's ever killed is a bottle of brandy.
Edgar Allan Poe: Her innocence was the first part of her soul to die.
Edgar Allan Poe: Take this kiss upon the brow!/And, in parting from you now/ Thus much let me avow/You are not wrong, who deem/All that we see or seem/Is but a dream within a dream.
Edgar Allan Poe: You're mad.
Ivan: Really, Mr. Poe? You're one to talk.
Edgar Allan Poe: I often thought I could hear the sound of darkness as it stole across the horizon, rushing towards me. But here I was overwhelmed by a sorrow so poignant. Once she finally died I felt in all candour a great release, but it was soon supplanted by the return of that dark and morbid melancholy that has followed me like a black dog all my life.
