Nothing else wounds so deeply and irreparably. Nothing else robs us of hope so much as being unloved by one we love
Clive BarkerThose old hypocrites. They talk about killing witches but the Good Bookโs full of magic. Turning the Nile to blood and parting the Red Sea. Whatโs that if itโs not good old-fashioned magic? Want a little water into wine? No trouble! How about raising the dead man Lazarus? Just say the word!
Clive BarkerI know that I want to bring sex and horror together as I have been able to in my books.
Clive BarkerSpring, if it lingers more than a week beyond its span, starts to hunger for summer to end the days of perpetual promise. Summer in its turn soon begins to sweat for something to quench its heat, and the mellowest of autumns will tire of gentility at last, and ache for a quick sharp frost to kill its fruitfulness. Even winter โ the hardest season, the most implacable โ dreams, as February creeps on, of the flame that will presently melt it away. Everything tires with time, and starts to seek some opposition, to save it from itself.
Clive BarkerAnd in time it will be as though men had never come to this perfect corner of the world-never called it paradise on earth, never despoiled it with their dream factories; and in the golden hush of the afternoon all that will be heard will be the flittering of dragonflies, and the murmur of hummingbirds as they pass from bower to bower, looking for a place to sup sweetness.
Clive Barker