“Blue, green, grey, white, or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is not silent.”

Heaven knows where I’ll end up – but it’s a safe bet that I’ll never be at the top of anything! Nor do I particularly care to be.

Horror and the unknown or the strange are always closely connected so that it is hard to create a convincing picture of shattered natural law or cosmic alienage or ‘outsideness’ without laying stress on the emotion of fear.

It would not be amiss for the novice to write the last paragraph of his story first, once a synopsis of the plot has been carefully prepared – as it always should be.

That metre itself forms an essential part of all true poetry is a principle which not even the assertions of an Aristotle or the pronouncements of a Plato can disestablish.

Cosmic terror appears as an ingredient of the earliest folklore of all races and is crystallised in the most archaic ballads, chronicles, and sacred writings.

Orthodox Christianity, by playing upon the emotions of man, is able to accomplish wonders toward keeping him in order and relieving his mind. It can frighten or cajole him away from evil more effectively than could reason.

Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.

I am not very proud of being an human being; in fact, I distinctly dislike the species in many ways. I can readily conceive of beings vastly superior in every respect.

Horrors, I believe, should be original – the use of common myths and legends being a weakening influence.

But are not the dreams of poets and the tales of travellers notoriously false?

Fear is our deepest and strongest emotion, and the one which best lends itself to the creation of nature-defying illusions.

If I could create an ideal world, it would be an England with the fire of the Elizabethans, the correct taste of the Georgians, and the refinement and pure ideals of the Victorians.

Toil without song is like a weary journey without an end.

Children, old crones, peasants, and dogs ramble; cats and philosophers stick to their point.

I could not write about ‘ordinary people’ because I am not in the least interested in them.

Adulthood is hell.

Chaos should be regarded as extremely good news!

When I was not the cause of some chaos, a chaos of such proportions that it would provoke a general corruption or a distubance so formal that even after my death its effects would still be felt.

Chaos is impatient. It’s random. And above all it’s selfish. It tears down everything just for the sake of change, feeding on itself in constant hunger. But Chaos can also be appealing. It tempts you to believe that nothing matters except what you want.

You have to rise above the squabbling and chaos, and keep believing. You have to always keep your goals in mind.” -Hera, goddess of marriage

A great deal of the chaos in the world occurs because people don’t appreciate themselves.

Artists love to immerse themselves in chaos in order to put it into form, just as God created form out of chaos in Genesis. Forever unsatisfied with the mundane, the apathetic, the conventional, they always push on to newer worlds.

There is an aristocracy of the sensitive. They represent the true human tradition of permanent victory over cruelty and chaos.

The numeric system was invented to help man to put order in the chaos of the world.