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
Sometimes I believe that this less material life is our truer life, and that our vain presence on the terraqueous globe is itself the secondary or merely virtual phenomenon.
Interpretation
This quote suggests that a less materialistic life is more authentic and that our existence on Earth may be less significant than it seems.
H. P. Lovecraft reflects on the nature of human existence, positing that a life focused less on material possessions is closer to our true selves. He implies that our physical presence on Earth, while often seen as central, may actually be secondary to a deeper, more meaningful existence that transcends the physical realm.
In practice
During a lecture on minimalism, someone could use this quote to emphasize the importance of valuing experiences over possessions.
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.
I wish we didn't live in a world where buying and selling things seems to have become almost more important than either producing or using them.
I say to my breath once again, little breath come from in front of me, go away behind me, row me quietly now, as far as you can, for I am an abyss that I am trying to cross.
If we do not live and manifest in our lives what we realize in our deepest moments of revelation, then we are living a split life.
Through this feeling of helplessness suddenly burst a piercing nostalgia for the lost world of childhood. The way it came right up against the heart, that world, and against the face. No indoors or outdoors, only everything touching us, and the grown-ups lumbering past overhead like constellations.
When I go from hence, let this be my parting word, that what I have seen is unsurpassable.
For white men, to live is to own, or to try to own more, or to die trying to own more. Their appetites are astonishing! They own wardrobes, slaves, carriages, houses, warehouses, and ships. They own ports, cities, plantations, valleys, mountains, chains of islands. They own this world, its jungles, its skies, and its seas. Yet they complain that Dejima is a prison. They complain they are not free.
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