liberivonis

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In Lovecraft’s prose, the Shoggoths are the alterity of alterity, the species-of-no-species, the biological empty set. When they are discovered to still be alive, they are described sometimes as formless, black ooze, and sometimes as mathematical patterns of organic “dots,” and sometimes as a hurling mass of viscous eyes. Formless, abstract, faceless.

Eugene Thacker, In the Dust of This Planet: Horror of Philosophy vol. 1 (via vulturehooligan)

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He enjoys life—as do all who are spared the curse of intelligence.

Lovecraft in a letter to Anne Tillery Renshaw, June 14 1922 (via azaambie)

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But more wonderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books is the secret lore of ocean.

H.P. Lovecraft (via larmoyante)

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At night, when the objective world has slunk back into its cavern and left dreamers to their own, there come inspirations and capabilities impossible at any less magical and quiet hour. No one knows whether or not he is a writer unless he has tried writing at night.

H.P. Lovecraft (via wordsnquotes)

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"Most horrible of all sights are the little unpainted wooden houses remote from travelled ways, usually squatted upon some damp, grassy slope or leaning against some gigantic outcropping of rock. Two hundred years and more they have leaned or squatted there, while the vines have crawled and the trees have swelled and spread. They are almost hidden now in lawless luxuriances of green and guardian shrouds of shadow; but the small-paned windows still stare shockingly, as if blinking through a lethal stupor which wards off madness by dulling the memory of unutterable things."

H.P. Lovecraft, The Picture in the House (via abandonedography)

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There are horrors beyond life’s edge that we do not suspect, and once in a while man’s evil prying calls them just within our range.

H.P. Lovecraft, ‘The Thing on the Doorstep’ (via michaelallanleonard)

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Contrary to what you may assume, I am not a pessimist but an indifferentist. That is, I don’t make the mistake of thinking that the cosmos gives a damn one way or the other about the especial wants and ultimate welfare of mosquitoes, rats, lice, dogs, men, horses, pterodactyls, trees, fungi, dodos, or other forms of biological energy.

H.P. Lovecraft (via michaelallanleonard)

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(via caveofhypnos)

There are not many persons who know what wonders are opened to them in the stories and visions of their youth; for when as children we listen and dream, we think but half-formed thoughts, and when as men we try to remember, we are dulled and prosaic with the poison of life. But some of us awake in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, of fountains that sing in the sun, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of plains that stretch down to sleeping cities of bronze and stone, and of shadowy companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses along the edges of thick forests; and then we know that we have looked back through the ivory gates into that world of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy.

H. P. Lovecraft, from ‘Celephaïs.’

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We shall overleap time, space, and dimensions, and without bodily motion peer to the bottom of creation.

H. P. Lovecraft, From Beyond (via evilpandapirate)

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The cottage hearth beams warm and bright, the candles gaily glow. The stars emit a kinder light, above the drifted snow. Down from the sky a magic steals, to glad the passing year, and belfries sing with joyous peals, for Christmastide is here!

From Lovecraft's Christmas.

A Lovecraftian christmas to all and may the new year bring you closer to the cosmic abyss.

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In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulu waits dreaming.

I've run out of quotes and need to catch up on my reading before I can post some more. Sit tight, I guess.

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After years he began to call the slow-sailing stars by name, and to follow them in fancy when they glided regretfully out of sight; till at length his vision opened to many secret vistas whose existence no common eye suspects. And one night a mighty gulf was bridged, and the dream-haunted skies swelled down to the lonely watcher’s window to merge with the close air of his room and make him a part of their fabulous wonder.

from Azathoth.

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Malitia vetus - malitia vetus est . . . venit . . . tandem venit . . .*

The last words of Scribonius Libo in The Very Old Folk.

* "Ancient evil - ancient is the evil... it has come... it has finally come..."

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There rose within him the tantalising faith that somewhere an easy gate existed, which if once found would admit him freely to those outer deeps whose echoes rattled so dimly at the back of his memory. It might be in the visible world, yet it might be only in his mind and soul. Perhaps he held within his own half-explored brain that cryptic link which would awaken him t oelder and future lives in forgotten dimensions; which would bind him to the stars, and to the infinities and eternities beyond them.

from The Descendant.