A.E. Howard
A.E. Howard
dream real yesterday
I have gone into yesterday and tomorrow and both were as real as today -- which is like the dreams of ghosts!
men bliss one-man
One man's bane is another's bliss.
writing texas order
One objection I have heard voiced to works of this kind—dealing with Texas—is the amount of gore spilled across the pages. It can not be otherwise. In order to write a realistic and true history of any part of the Southwest, one must narrate such things, even at the risk of monotony.
horse soul desire
My body seems a mere encumbrance to me; an imbecillic wagon, hitched to the horse of desire, which is the soul.
effort littles enough
I have accomplished little enough, but such as it is, it is the result of my own efforts.
I have not been a success, and probably never will be.
men grandfather firsts
But whatever my failure, I have this thing to remember - that I was a pioneer in my profession, just as my grandfathers were in theirs, in that I was the first man in this section to earn his living as a writer.
writing men ideas
But the idea of a man making his living by writing seemed, in that hardy environment, so fantastic that even today I am sometimes myself assailed by a feeling of unreality.
environment spite
I became a writer in spite of my environments.
reality men giving
Time and times are but cogwheels, unmatched, grinding on oblivious to one another. Occasionally - oh, very rarely! - the cogs fit; the pieces of the plot snap together momentarily and give men faint glimpses beyond the veil of this everyday blindness we call reality.
life dream ghost
Life is but a web spun of ghosts and dreams and illusions.
dark lions
It is better to go in the dark when the road must pass a lion and there is no other road.
past worn cloaks
I have put off the past like a worn-out cloak.
kings ocean men
There comes, even to kings, the time of great weariness. Then the gold of the throne is brass, the silk of the palace becomes drab. The gems in the diadem and upon the fingers of the women sparkle drearily like the ice of white seas; the speech of men is as the empty rattle of a jester's bell and the feel comes of things unreal; even the sun is copper in the sky and the breath of the green ocean is no longer fresh.