There are horrors beyond life's edge that we do not suspect, and once in a while man's evil prying calls them just within our range.
H. P. LovecraftRead
It is absolutely necessary, for the peace and safety of mankind, that some of earth's dark, dead corners and unplumbed depths be left alone; lest sleeping abnormalities wake to resurgent life, and blasphemously surviving nightmares squirm and splash out of their black lairs to newer and wider conquests.
Interpretation
Some parts of the world should remain untouched to prevent awakening hidden dangers.
This quote by H.P. Lovecraft reflects a philosophy of caution regarding the exploration of the unknown. It suggests that delving into certain areas of existence, whether literal or metaphorical, may awaken forces that are better left undisturbed, as these 'nightmares' could threaten the peace and safety of humanity.
In practice
During a lecture about the importance of preserving natural habitats, one might say, 'As Lovecraft warns, some dark corners of the world must be left alone to protect the balance of nature.'
There are horrors beyond life's edge that we do not suspect, and once in a while man's evil prying calls them just within our range.
I know always that I am an outsider; a stranger in this century and among those who are still men.
Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.
The process of delving into the black abyss is to me the keenest form of fascination.
No new horror can be more terrible than the daily torture of the commonplace.
I am, indeed, an absolute materialist so far as actual belief goes; with not a shred of credence in any form of supernaturalism—religion, spiritualism, transcendentalism, metempsychosis, or immortality.
Wherever you look there’s meanness and corruption. This room, this bottle of grape wine, these fruits in the basket, are all products of profit and loss. A fellow can’t live without giving his passive acceptance to meanness. Somebody wears his tail to a frazzle for every mouthful we eat and every stitch we wear—and nobody seems to know. Everybody is blind, dumb, and blunt-headed—stupid and mean.
But I think I’m coloured by my own wishes, & experimental mood.
The wounds of calumny, the reproaches of the proud, the venom of the bigoted, the treachery of the false, and the weakness of the true, we have known in our measure; and therein have had communion with our Lord Jesus.
To narrate is to give oneself: it seems obvious that literature, as an effort to communicate fully, will continue to be blocked so long as misery and illiteracy exist, and so long as the possessors of power continue to carry on with impunity their policy of collective imbecilization through the mass media.
The great events of life often leave one unmoved; they pass out of consciousness, and, when thinks of them, become unreal. Even the scarlet flowers of passion seem to grow in the same meadow as the poppies of oblivion. We reject the burden of their memory, and have anodynes against them. But the little things, the things of no moment, remain with us. In some tiny ivory cell the brain stores the most delicate, and the most fleeting impressions.
A city is a place where there is no need to wait for next week to get the answer to a question, to taste the food of any country, to find new voices to listen to and familiar ones to listen to again.
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