Never the less, at the age of fifteen, having never seen a writer, a poet, a publisher or a magazine editor, and having only the vaguest ideas of procedure, I began working on the profession I had chosen.

It was no ape, neither was it a man. It was some shambling horror spawned in the mysterious, nameless jungles of the south, where strange life teemed in the reeking rot without the dominance of man, and drums thundered in temples that had never known the tread of a human foot.

Coming, as I do, from mountain folk on one side and sea followers on the other, there are few old songs of the hills or the sea with which I am not familiar.

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

I'll say one thing about an oil boom; it will teach a kid that Life's a pretty rotten thing as quick as anything I can think of.

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.

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.

I have no fear of the Hereafter. An orthodox hell could hardly be more torture than my life has been.

In this world men struggle and suffer vainly, finding pleasure only in the bright madness of battle; dying, their souls enter a gray misty realm of clouds and icy winds, to wander cheerlessly throughout eternity.

Animals are neither gods nor fiends, but men in their way without the lust and greed of man.

It is better to go in the dark when the road must pass a lion and there is no other road.

How can I wear the harness of toil And sweat at the daily round, While in my soul forever The drums of Pictdom sound?

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

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

But whatever my failure, I have this thing to remember - that I was a pioneer in my profession, just as my grandfathers were in theirs, in that I was the first man in this section to earn his living as a writer.

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

When I cannot stand alone, it will be time to die.

A kingdom is not lost by a single defeat.

Barbarism is the natural state of mankind,

The people among which I lived - and yet live, mainly - made their living from cotton, wheat, cattle, oil, with the usual percentage of business men and professional men.

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.

Wits and swords are as straws against the wisdom of the Darkness...

Time and times are but cogwheels, unmatched, grinding on oblivious to one another. Occasionally - oh, very rarely! - the cogs fit; the pieces of the plot snap together momentarily and give men faint glimpses beyond the veil of this everyday blindness we call reality.

Don't you think that as a people, Americans have less poetry, real poetry, in their souls than any other nations?

I became a writer in spite of my environments.

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

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

Barbarianism is the natural state of mankind. Civilization is unnatural. It is the whim of circumstance. And barbarianism must ultimately triumph

The poem you sent me was as fiery and virile as anything you've ever written - or anybody else, for that matter. Especially the second part went to my brain like the flaming liquor of insanity. No one else besides Jack London has the power to move me just that way.

All fled—all done, so lift me on the pyre— The Feast is over, and the lamps expire.

I am unable to rouse much interest in any highly civilized race, country or epoch, including this one.

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.

The more I see of what you call civilization, the more highly I think of what you call savagery!

The printed page was like wine to me.

The only safe enemy was a headless enemy.

My body seems a mere encumbrance to me; an imbecillic wagon, hitched to the horse of desire, which is the soul.

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

It seems to me that many writers, by virtue of environments of culture, art and education, slip into writing because of their environments.

It is not pleasant to come upon Death in a lonely place at midnight.

I have accomplished little enough, but such as it is, it is the result of my own efforts.

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.

I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, & am content.

By this axe I rule!

I don't believe I ever saw an Oklahoman who wouldn't fight at the drop of a hat -- and frequently drop the hat himself.

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

A woman in such an emotional tempest is as perilous as a blind cobra to any about her.

But not all men seek rest and peace; some are born with the spirit of the storm in their blood.

A wolf was no less a wolf because a whim of chance caused him to run with the watch-dogs.

I have known many gods. He who denies them is blind as he who trusts them too deeply.

It is only the promise of death that makes life worth living.