You See Them? You See The Things

I Know Always That I Am An Outsider; A Stranger In This Century And Among Those Who Are Still Men.

I Have Seen The Dark Universe Yawning Where The Black Planets Roll Without Aim, Where They Roll In Their Horror Unheeded, Without Knowledge, Or Lustre, Or Name.

Blue, Green, Grey, White, Or Black; Smooth, Ruffled, Or Mountainous; That Ocean Is Not Silent.

I Can Look Back . . . At Two Distinct Periods Of Opinion Whose Foundations I Have Successively Come To Distrust - A Period Before 1919 Or So, When The Weight Of Classic Authority Unduly Influenced Me, And Another Period From 1919 To About 1925, When I Placed Too High A Value On The Elements Of Revolt, Florid Colour, And Emotional Extravagance Or Intensity.

While My Chosen Form Of Story-writing Is Obviously A Special And Perhaps A Narrow One, It Is None The Less A Persistent And Permanent Type Of Expression, As Old As Literature Itself. There Will Always Be A Certain Small Percentage Of Persons Who Feel A Burning Curiosity About Unknown Outer Space, And A Burning Desire To Escape From The Prison-house Of The Known And The Real Into Those Enchanted Lands Of Incredible Adventure And Infinite Possibilities Which Dreams Open Up To Us, And Which Things Like Deep Woods, Fantastic Urban Towers, And Flaming Sunsets Momentarily Suggest.