George Hopper

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The Blade Itself
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Killer on the Roa...
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by Stephen Graham Jones (Goodreads Author)
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  (page 20 of 460)
Jan 22, 2026 06:21PM

 
Book cover for The Chromatic Court
What those simulations found, time after time, was that agents whose perceptions were optimized for utility always won out over those whose senses were geared for truth. In other words, the world we perceive is like a user interface, and ...more
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Gemma Files
“He knew that wanting Grammar was both morbid and perverse on his part, but the freakish glamor of a berserker must always hold its own attractions, especially for a military man.”
Gemma Files, The Worm in Every Heart

“Horror writing is the filter that allows us to see the eclipse”
Tim Waggoner on Lovecraft eZine

Sam Gafford
“In one of his stories, Lovecraft wrote something that I've never forgotten. It's stayed with me all these years. He said, "The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents”
Sam Gafford, The Dreamer in Fire and Other Stories

Michael   Shea
“The signals stretched out of sight ahead, like a python with scales of red and green, their radiance haloed in a light fog that was drifting in off the Bay. And people were out, little knots of them near the corners. They formed isolated clots of gaudy life, like tidepools, all of them dressed in baggy clothes of bright-colored nylon, paneled and logo-ed with surreal pastels under the emerald-and-ruby signal glare. And as they stood and talked together, they moved in a way both fitful and languid, like sealife bannering in a restless sea.”
Michael Shea, Demiurge: The Complete Cthulhu Mythos Tales of Michael Shea

John  Langan
“His heart kicked. Everything in him seemed to rise up, as if threatening to exit his body through the top of his head, then to drop, carrying him to the floor. His mind was a blank, all other thoughts blown to its margins by Tony’s ravaged body. That blank, he understood a moment later, was a grief so immediate and profound it doubled him over, flooding his eyes with tears, forcing sobs from his lips. No matter that one part of his brain had resumed the this-doesn’t-make-sense complaint (as the blood demonstrated, the man in front of him had been dead for days, at least; even if there were another explanation for that detail, August should have heard the sounds of his father’s murder, despite the screaming that vibrated the air). Tony’s corpse made all of that seem inconsequential, irrelevant.”
John Langan, Corpsemouth and Other Autobiographies

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