No Man Can Be Convinced When He

If I Was Wealthy I'd Never Do Anything But Poke Around In Ruined Cities All Over The World - And Probably Get Snake-bit.

Over The Souls Of Men Spread The Condor Wings Of Colossal Monsters And All Manner Of Evil Things Prey Upon The Heart And Soul And Body Of Man. Yet It May Be In Some Far Day The Shadows Shall Fade And The Prince Of Darkness Be Chained Forever In His Hell. And Till Then Mankind Can But Stand Up Stoutly To The Monsters In His Own Heart And Without, And With The Aid Of God He May Yet Triumph.

Musings The Little Poets Sing Of Little Things: Hope, Cheer, And Faith, Small Queens And Puppet Kings; Lovers Who Kissed And Then Were Made As One, And Modest Flowers Waving In The Sun. The Mighty Poets Write In Blood And Tears And Agony That, Flame-like, Bites And Sears. They Reach Their Mad Blind Hands Into The Night, To Plumb Abysses Dead To Human Sight; To Drag From Gulfs Where Lunacy Lies Curled, Mad, Monstrous Nightmare Shapes To Blast The World. [click On The Thumbnail By Jack "king" Kirby]

While We May Open The Books Of The Past, We May But Grant Flying Glances Of The Future, Through The Mist That Veils It.

He Was . . . A Strange Blending Of Puritan And Cavalier, With A Touch Of The Ancient Philosopher, And More Than A Touch Of The Pagan. . . . A Hunger In His Soul Drove Him On And On, An Urge To Right All Wrongs, Protect All Weaker Things. . . . Wayward And Restless As The Wind, He Was Consistent In Only One Respect—he Was True To His Ideals Of Justice And Right. Such Was Solomon Kane.