I am so beastly tired of mankind and the world that nothing can interest me unless it contains a couple of murders on each page or deals with the horrors unnameable and unaccountable that leer down from the external universes.

We shall see that at which dogs howl in the dark, and that at which cats prick up their ears after midnight.

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

I never ask a man what his business is, for it never interests me. What I ask him about are his thoughts and dreams.

If I could create an ideal world, it would be an England with the fire of the Elizabethans, the correct taste of the Georgians, and the refinement and pure ideals of the Victorians.

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

What a man does for pay is of little significance. What he is, as a sensitive instrument responsive to the world's beauty, is everything!