Creative Minds Are Uneven, And The Best

The Cat Is Such A Perfect Symbol Of Beauty And Superiority That Is Seems Scarcely Possible For Any True Aesthete And Civilized Cynic To Do Other Than To Worship It.

I Have Harnessed The Shadows That Stride From World To World To Sow Death And Madness.

When I Say That I Can Write Nothing But Weird Fiction, I Am Not Trying To Exalt That Medium But Am Merely Confessing My Own Weakness. The Reason I Can't Write Other Kinds Is Not That I Don't Value & Respect Them, But Merely That My Slender Set Of Endowments Does Not Enable Me To Extract A Compellingly Acute Personal Sense Of Interest & Drama From The Natural Phenomena Of Life.

I Shall Never Sleep Calmly Again When I Think Of The Horrors That Lurk Ceaselessly Behind Life In Time And In Space, And Of Those Unhallowed Blasphemies From Elder Stars Which Dream Beneath The Sea, Known And Favoured By A Nightmare Cult Ready And Eager To Loose Them Upon The World Whenever Another Earthquake Shall Heave Their Monstrous Stone City Again To The Sun And Air.

An Isolated Person Requires Correspondence As A Means Of Seeing His Ideas As Others See Them, And Thus Guarding Against The Dogmatisms And Extravagances Of Solitary And Uncorrected Speculation.