“Never should an unfamiliar word be passed over without elucidation, for, with a little conscientious research, we may each day add to our conquests in the realm of philology and become more and more ready for graceful independent expression.”

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.

By judging others we blind ourselves to our own evil and to the grace which others are just as entitled to as we are.

The only man who has the right to say that he is justified by grace alone is the man who has left all to follow Christ.

Cheap grace is the deadly enemy of our church. We are fighting today for costly grace.

Judging others makes us blind, whereas love is illuminating. By judging others we blind ourselves to our own evil and to the grace which others are just as entitled to as we are.

Grace at a low cost, is in the last resort simply a new law, which brings neither help nor freedom.

Grace is at the nexus of love and awareness. There it’s all open and it’s all love.

Costly grace is the gospel which must be sought again and again, the gift which must be asked for, the door at which a man must knock.

My father had extravagant notions of my beauty, grace, wit, and charm.