Patrick.G.P

“I had long ago determined that I would devote my life to literary scholarship. Not, let me emphasise, the dry-as-dust scholarship of academe, the crushing orthodoxy to be found in universities, but rather the recondite scholarship that is a journey into the unknown. I refer, chiefly, to those dead authors whose works savour of the uncanny and the marvellous, authors whose unique perspectives are beyond the self-stultifying purview of the modern critical mania for so-called realism. For my part I chose the mysteries, and the hierophant of mystery was an obscure author called Arthur Machen.”
― Mark Samuels, The Man Who Collected Machen and Other Weird Tales

“Long after they had bidden each other good-night, long after Herbert had trodden on tiptoe with his candle past his closed door, Lawford sat leaning on his arms at the open window, staring out across the motionless moonlit trees that seemed to stand like draped and dreaming pilgrims, come to the peace of their Nirvana at last beside the crashing music of the waters. And he himself, the self that never sleeps beneath the tides and waves og consciousness, was listening, too, almost as unmovedly and unheedingly to the thoughts that clashed in conflict through his brain.”
― Walter de la Mare, The Return

“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

“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