From Even The Greatest Of

There Be Those Who Say That Things And Places Have Souls, And There Be Those Who Say They Have Not; I Dare Not Say, Myself, But I Will Tell Of The Street.

Religion Itself Is An Absurdity And An Anomaly, And Paganism Is Acceptable Only Because It Represents That Purely Orgiastic Phase Of Religion Farthest From Reality.

In His House At R'lyeh, Dead Cthulu Waits Dreaming

Everything I Loved Had Been Dead For Two Centuries - Or, As In The Case Of Graeco-roman Classicism, For Two Milenniums. I Am Never A Part Of Anything Around Me - In Everything I Am An Outsider. Should I Find It Possible To Crawl Backward Through The Halls Of Time To That Age Which Is Nearest My Own Fancy, I Should Doubtless Be Bawled Out Of The Coffee-houses For Heresy In Religion, Or Else Lampooned By John Dennis Till I Found Refuge In The Deep, Silent Thames, That Covers Many Another Unfortunate.

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.