Patrick.G.P

“The arts, then, are man’s difference, that which makes him to be what he is; and when he speaks through them he is using the utterance which is proper to him, as man. For, if we once set aside the “does it pay” nonsense, which is evidently nonsense and pestilent nonsense at that, we come clearly and freely to the truth that man is concerned with beauty, and with the ecstasy or rapture that proceeds from the creation of beauty and from the contemplation of it.”
― Arthur Machen, The autobiography of Arthur Machen

“That horror which stalks in the stillness of the noonday, when the glare of an artificial sunshine lights up the motionless trees, moved all about her. In front and behind she was aware of it. Beyond this stealthy silence, just within the edge of it, the things of another world were passing. But she could not know them. Her husband knew them, knew their beauty and their awe, yes, but for her they were out of reach. She might not share with him the very least of them. It seemed that behind and through the glare of this wintry noonday in the heart of the woods there brooded another universe of life and passion, for her all unexpressed. The silence veiled it, the stillness hid it; but he moved with it all and understood. His love interpreted it.”
― Algernon Blackwood, The Man Whom the Trees Loved

“Perhaps one suffers in the tomb. There are corpses that have strange grimaces on their faces when they’re disinterred, as if they remember down there all the filth of this life.”
― Jean Lorrain, The Soul-Drinker and Other Decadent Fantasies

“We think we’re walking into the future. We fool ourselves! But every last damn one of us is walking straight into the past.”
― David Keenan, This Is Memorial Device