Never Explain Anything

The Poetical Tendency Of The Present And Of The Preceding Century Has Been Divided In A Manner Singularly Curious. One Loud And Conspicuous Faction Of Bards, Giving Way To The Corrupt Influences Of A Decaying General Culture, Seems To Have Abandoned All The Properties Of Versification And Reason In Its Mad Scramble After Sensational Novelty; Whilst The Other And Quieter School Constituting A More Logical Evolution From The Poesy Of The Georgian Period, Demands An Accuracy Of Rhyme And Metre Unknown Even To The Polished Artists Of The Age Of Pope.

I Could Not Help Feeling That They Were Evil Things-- Mountains Of Madness Whose Farther Slopes Looked Out Over Some Accursed Ultimate Abyss. That Seething , Half-luminous Cloud-background Held Ineffable Suggestions Of A Vague, Ethereal Beyondness Far More Than Terrestrially Spatial; And Gave Appalling Reminders Of The Utter Remoteness, Separateness, Desolation, And Aeon-long Death Of This Untrodden And Unfathomed Austral World.

Bunch Together A Group Of People Deliberately Chosen For Strong Religious Feelings, And You Have A Practical Guarantee Of Dark Morbidities Expressed In Crime, Perversion, And Insanity.

Most Of My Monsters Fail Altogether To Satisfy My Sense Of The Cosmic - The Abnormally Chromatic Entity In The Colour Out Of Space Being The Only One Of The Lot Which I Take Any Pride In.

Almost Nobody Dances Sober, Unless They Happen To Be Insane.