Robert E. Howard Quotes, Life Quotes, Dream Quotes

Life is but a web spun of ghosts and dreams and illusions.

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Youngsters of this generation seem not quite so hazardous except in the way of mechanical speed, bad liquor and venereal diseases.

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Every twinge of sensation, even of agony, was a negation of death.

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What shall a man say when a friend has vanished behind the doors of Death? A mere tangle of barren words, only words.

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Men are but men, and the greatest men are they who soonest learn the simpler things.

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We're making tin gods out of those poor buffoons in Hollywood; I dote on movies and appreciate the scanty art therein but I consider the profession about the most debased and debasing I know.

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For man's only weapon is courage that flinches not from the gates of Hell itself, and against such not even the legions of Hell can stand.

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Aye, you white dog, you are like all your race; but to a black man gold can never pay for blood.

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Let me live deep while I live; let me know the rich juices of red meat & stinging wine on my palate, the hot embrace of white arms, the mad exultation of battle when the blue blades flame crimson, and I am content"......Conan the Cimmerian.

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The sea-road is good for wanderers and landless men. There is quenching of thirst on the grey paths of the winds, and the flying clouds to still the sting of lost dreams.

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I have put off the past like a worn-out cloak.

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But the idea of a man making his living by writing seemed, in that hardy environment, so fantastic that even today I am sometimes myself assailed by a feeling of unreality.

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Tags : Robert E. Howard Quotes , Writing Quotes , Men Quotes

I know this: if life is illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and being thus, the illusion is real to me. I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, and am content.

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I reckon if I ever marry, she will have to be a strong woman in a circus or something.

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Rome got some peachy pastings when she tried to lick the Irish.

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I had neither expert aid nor advice. I studied no courses in writing; until a year or so ago, I never read a book by anybody advising writers how to write.

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I'm not going out of my way looking for devils; but I wouldn't step out of my path to let one go by.

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Civilization is a natural and inevitable consequence - whether good or evil I am not prepared to state.

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In the hill country, civilization steals in last, and the people retain much of the crude but vigorous mode of expression of the colonial days and earlier.

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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]

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