being with people makes me vomit. I don't like em. I never did.
Clive BarkerThe World. Hugo had once told Nathaniel in Will's presence, was made by many men, but shaped by few. The important thing was to be one of those few; to find a place in which you could change the repetitive patterns of the many Through political influence and intellectual discourse, and failing either of these , through benign coercion.
Clive BarkerWho can call a man dead whose words still hush and whose sentiments move?
Clive BarkerStichwörter: inspirational
We're both thieves, Harvey Swick. I take time. You take lives. But in the end we're the same: both Thieves of Always.
Clive BarkerI want to be remembered as an imaginer, someone who used his imagination as a way to journey beyond the limits of self, beyond the limits of flesh and blood, beyond the limits of even perhaps life itself, in order to discover some sense of order in what appears to be a disordered universe. I'm using my imagination to find meaning, both for myself and, I hope, for my readers."-Clive Barker
Clive BarkerBefore she could look to find a wound he had control of the vision once again, but like a juggler attempting to hold too many balls in the air catching one meant loosing another.
Clive BarkerLeavening the flat bread of what we know, with the yeast of what we dream may come to pass.
Clive BarkerKaufman almost smiled at the perfection of its horror. He felt an offer of insanity tickling the base of his skull, tempting him into oblivion, promising a blank indifference to the world.
Clive BarkerStichwörter: horror clive-barker the-midnight-meat-train
So now, I look at these stories, and almost like a photograph snapped at a party, I find all manner of signs and indications of who I was. Was? Yes, was. I look at these pieces and I don't think the man who wrote them is alive in me anymore. Writing an introduction to the tenth anniversary edition of Weaveworld last year I remarked on much of the same thing: the man who'd written that book was no longer around. He'd died in me, was buried in me. We are our own graveyards; we squat amongst the tombs of the people we were. If we're healthy, every day is a celebration, a Day of the Dead, in which we give thanks for the lives that we lived, and if we're neurotic we brood and mourn and wish that the past was still present.
Clive BarkerWherever I go, I will speak of you with love.
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