Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.
The world is indeed comic, but the joke is on mankind.
Toil without song is like a weary journey without an end.
Almost nobody dances sober, unless they happen to be insane.
I fear my enthusiasm flags when real work is demanded of me.
But are not the dreams of poets and the tales of travellers notoriously false?
The process of delving into the black abyss is to me the keenest form of fascination.
I have harnessed the shadows that stride from world to world to sow death and madness...
Blue, green, grey, white, or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is not silent.
But more wonderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books is the secret lore of ocean.