To Be Bitter Is To Attribute Intent

The Poetical Tendency Of The Present And Of The Preceding Century Has Been Divided In A Manner Singularly Curious. One Loud And Conspicuous Faction Of Bards, Giving Way To The Corrupt Influences Of A Decaying General Culture, Seems To Have Abandoned All The Properties Of Versification And Reason In Its Mad Scramble After Sensational Novelty; Whilst The Other And Quieter School Constituting A More Logical Evolution From The Poesy Of The Georgian Period, Demands An Accuracy Of Rhyme And Metre Unknown Even To The Polished Artists Of The Age Of Pope.

Religion Is Still Useful Among The Herd - That It Helps Their Orderly Conduct As Nothing Else Could. The Crude Human Animal Is In-eradicably Superstitious, And There Is Every Biological Reason Why They Should Be. Take Away His Christian God And Saints, And He Will Worship Something Else.

I Felt Myself On The Edge Of The World; Peering Over The Rim Into A Fathomless Chaos Of Eternal Night.

Non- Euclidean Calculus And Quantum Physics Are Enough To Stretch Any Brain; And When One Mixes Them With Folklore, And Tries To Trace A Strange Background Of Multi-dimensional Reality Behind The Ghoulish Hints Of Gothic Tales And The Wild Whispers Of The Chimney-corner, One Can Hardly Expect To Be Wholly Free From Mental Tension. (dreams In The Witch-house)

Pleasure To Me Is Wonder—the Unexplored, The Unexpected, The Thing That Is Hidden And The Changeless Thing That Lurks Behind Superficial Mutability. To Trace The Remote In The Immediate; The Eternal In The Ephemeral; The Past In The Present; The Infinite In The Finite; These Are To Me The Springs Of Delight And Beauty.