The Gates of Nineveh
By Robert E. Howard
These are the gates of Nineveh: here
Sargon came when his wars were won
Gazed at the turrets looming clear
Boldly etched in the morning sun
Down from his chariot Sargon came
Tossed his helmet upon the sand
Dropped his sword with its blade like flame
Stroked his beard with his empty hand
"Towers are flaunting their banners red
The people greet me with song and mirth
But a weird is on me," Sargon said
"And I see the end of the tribes of earth"
"Cities crumble, and chariots rust
I see through a fog that is strange and gray
All kingly things fade back to the dust
Even the gates of Nineveh"
quote-bomber reblogged
“A child that is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth.”
African Proverb
quote-bomber reblogged
EASTER ISLAND
By ROBERT E. HOWARD
How many weary centuries have flown
Since strange-eyed beings walked this ancient shore,
Hearing, as we, the green Pacific's roar,
Hewing fantastic gods from sullen stone!
The sands are bare; the idols stand alone.
Impotent 'gainst the years was all their lore:
They are forgot in ages dim and hoar;
Yet still, as then, the long tide-surges drone.
What dreams had they, that shaped these uncouth things?
Before these gods what victims bled and died?
What purple galleys swept along the strand
That bore the tribute of what dim sea-kings?
But now they reign o'er a forgotten land,
Gating forever out beyond the tide.
Flaming Marble
by Robert E Howard
I carved a woman out of marble when
The walls of Athens echoed to my fame,
And in the myrtle crown was shrined my name.
I wrought with skill beyond all mortal ken.
And into cold inhuman beauty then
I breathed a touch of white and living flame --
And from her pedestal she rose and came
To snare the souls and rend the hearts of men.
Without a soul, without a human heart
She shattered mortal love and mortal pride
And even I fell victim to my art,
With bitter joyless love I took my bride.
And still with frozen hate that never dies
She sits and stares at me with icy eyes.
“As democracy is perfected, the office of president represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron.”
H.L. Mencken, born 12th September 1880
quote-bomber reblogged
Fairy tales, then, are not responsible for producing in children fear, or any of the shapes of fear; fairy tales do not give the child the idea of the evil or the ugly; that is in the child already, because it is in the world already. Fairy tales do not give the child his first idea of bogey. What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogey. The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy tale provides for him is a St. George to kill the dragon. Exactly what the fairy tale does is this: it accustoms him for a series of clear pictures to the idea that these limitless terrors had a limit, that these shapeless enemies have enemies in the knights of God, that there is something in the universe more mystical than darkness, and stronger than strong fear.
G.K. Chesterton, Tremendous Trifles
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On Hans Christian Andersen
"When the English romantics wanted to find the folk-tale spirit still alive, they found it in the small country of one of those small kings, with whom the folk-tales are almost comically crowded. There they found what we call an original writer, who was nevertheless the image of the origins. They found a whole fairyland in one head and under one nineteenth-century top hat. Those of the English who were then children owe to Hans Andersen more than to any of their own writers, that essential educational emotion which feels that domesticity is not dull but rather fantastic; that sense of the fairyland of furniture, and the travel and adventure of the farmyard. His treatment of inanimate things as animate was not a cold and awkward allegory: it was a true sense of a dumb divinity in things that are. Through him a child did feel that the chair he sat on was something like a wooden horse. Through him children and the happier kind of men did feel themselves covered by a roof as by the folded wings of some vast domestic fowl; and feel common doors like great mouths that opened to utter welcome. In the story of "The Fir Tree" he transplanted to England a living bush that can still blossom into candles. And in his tale of "The Tin Soldier" he uttered the true defence of romantic militarism against the prigs who would forbid it even as a toy for the nursery. He suggested, in the true tradition of the folk-tales, that the dignity of the fighter is not in his largeness but rather in his smallness, in his stiff loyalty and heroic helplessness in the hands of larger and lower things."
~G.K. Chesterton: "The Crimes of England," Chap VI. — Hamlet and the Danes.
(Image: The Hanfstaengl portrait of Andersen, July 1860)
quote-bomber reblogged
Fairy tales, then, are not responsible for producing in children fear, or any of the shapes of fear; fairy tales do not give the child the idea of the evil or the ugly; that is in the child already, because it is in the world already. Fairy tales do not give the child his first idea of bogey. What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogey. The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy tale provides for him is a St. George to kill the dragon. -G.K. Chesterton
“Modern life seems set up so that we can avoid loneliness at all costs, but maybe it's worthwhile to face it occasionally. The further we push aloneness away, the less are we able to cope with it, and the more terrifying it gets. Some philosophers believe that loneliness is the only true feeling there is. We live orphaned on a tiny rock in the immense vastness of space, with no hint of even the simplest form of life anywhere around us for billions upon billions of miles, alone beyond all imagining. We live locked in our own heads and can never entirely know the experience of another person. Even if we're surrounded by family and friends, we journey into death completely alone.”
Michael Finkel, The Stranger in the Woods: The Extraordinary Story of the Last True Hermit