Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.
I think the idea of the social construction of beauty – this idea that beauty is simply whatever culture or society says it is – is on the run. Of course, beauty does arise in a cultural context. No one ever denies that. But there’s also a natural response people have to it.
For books are more than books, they are the life, the very heart and core of ages past, the reason why men worked and died, the essence and quintessence of their lives.
In science, read by preference the newest works. In literature, read the oldest. The classics are always modern.
A man must be sacrificed now and again to provide for the next generation of men.
Time! Joyless emblem of the greed of millions, robber of the best which earth can give.
Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me, and drench me in loneliness.
All books are either dreams or swords, you can cut, or you can drug, with words.
My parents were in the book business, my brothers still run the Dutton bookstores in Los Angeles, and I’ve been interested in editing books and journals all of my life.
I am tired, beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you; of squeezing it into little ink drops, and posting it. And I scald alone, here, under the fire of the great moon.