But Are Not The Dreams

I Am A Student Of Life, And Don't Want To Miss Any Experience. There's Poetry In This Sort Of Thing, You Know--or Perhaps You Don't Know, But It's All The Same.

Truly, There Are Terrible Primal Arcana Of Earth Which Had Better Be Left Unknown And Unevoked; Dread Secrets Which Have Nothing To Do With Man, And Which Man May Learn Only In Exchange For Peace And Sanity; Cryptic Truths Which Make The Knower Evermore An Alien Among His Kind, And Cause Him To Walk Alone On Earth.

Man's Relations To Man Do Not Captivate My Fancy. It Is Man's Relation To The Cosmos--to The Unknown--which Alone Arouses In Me The Spark Of Creative Imagination.

All I Say Is That I Think It Is Damned Unlikely That Anything Like A Central Cosmic Will, A Spirit World, Or An Eternal Survival Of Personality Exist. They Are The Most Preposterous And Unjustified Of All The Guesses Which Can Be Made About The Universe, And I Am Not Enough Of A Hair-splitter To Pretend That I Don't Regard Them As Arrant And Negligible Moonshine. In Theory I Am An Agnostic, But Pending The Appearance Of Radical Evidence I Must Be Classed, Practically And Provisionally, As An Atheist.

In His House At R'lyeh, Dead Cthulu Waits Dreaming