Quotes from Robert W. Chambers

Strange is the night where black stars rise, and strange moons circle through the skies, but stranger still is lost Carcosa.

Camilla: You, sir, should unmask. Stranger: Indeed? Cassilda: Indeed it's time. We all have laid aside disguise but you. Stranger: I wear no mask. Camilla: (Terrified, aside to Cassilda.) No mask? No mask! -- The King in Yellow, Act I, Scene 2.

for I knew that the King in Yellow had opened his tattered mantle and there was only God to cry to now.

I cannot forget Carcosa where black stars hang in the heavens; where the shadows of men's thoughts lengthen in the afternoon, when the twin suns sink into the lake of Hali; and my mind will bear for ever the memory of the Pallid Mask. I pray God will curse the writer, as the writer has cursed the world with this beautiful, stupendous creation, terrible in its simplicity, irresistible in its truth—a world which now trembles before the King in Yellow.

The Clown turned his powdered face to the mirror. If to be fair is to be beautiful, he said, who can compare with me in my white mask? Who can compare with him in his white mask? I asked Death beside me. Who can compare with me? said Death, for I am paler still. You are very beautiful, sighed the Clown, turning his powdered face from the mirror.

Song of my soul, my voice is dead, Die though, unsung, as tears unshed Shall dry and die in Lost Carcosa

The ambition of Caesar and of Napoleon pales before that which could not rest until it had seized the minds of men and controlled even their unborn thoughts

There a painless death awaits him who can no longer bear the sorrows of this life.

Come and see my rose-coloured bath full of death!

Where the slanting forest eaves, Shingled tight with greenest leaves, Sweep the scented meadow-sedge, Let us snoop along the edge; Let us pry in hidden nooks, Laden with our nature books, Scaring birds with happy cries, Chloroforming butterflies, Rooting up each woodland plant, Pinning beetle, fly, and ant, So we may identify What we've ruined, by-and-by.

The ambition of Caesar and of Napoleon pales before that which could not rest until it had seized the minds of men and controlled even their unborn thoughts, said Mr. Wilde. You are speaking of the King in Yellow, I groaned, with a shudder. He is a king whom emperors have served. I am content to serve him, I replied.

Let the red dawn surmise What we shall do, When this blue starlight dies And all is through." (The Yellow Sign)

I saw the lake of Hali, thin and blank, without a ripple or wind to stir it, and I saw the towers of Carcosa behind the moon. Aldebaran, the Hyades, Alar, Hastur, glided through the cloud-rifts which fluttered and flapped as they passed like the scolloped tatters of the King in Yellow.

I cannot forget Carcosa where black stars hang in the heavens; where the shadows of men's thoughts lengthen in the afternoon, when the twin suns sink into the lake of Hali; and my mind will bear for ever the memory of the Pallid Mask.

The people faded away, the arches, the vaulted roof vanished. I raised my seared eyes to the fathomless glare; and I saw the black stars hanging in the heavens: and the wet winds from the Lake of Hali chilled my face. (In The Court of the Dragon)

The laws prohibiting suicide and providing punishment for any attempt at self-destruction have been repealed. The Government has seen fit to acknowledge the right of man to end an existence which may have become intolerable to him, through physical suffering or mental despair.

He is a king whom emperors have served.

I had never yet done such a thing in life, but now I felt a desire to mock. (In The Court Of The Dragon)

There a painless death awaits him who can no longer bear the sorrows of this life. If death is welcome let him seek it there.

What a precious triple donkey I had made of myself!

Unsavoury as it is below, there is cheerfulness, and comfort, and hard, honest work above. ("In The Court Of The Dragon")

The mask of self-deception was no longer a mask for me, it was a part of me. Night lifted it, laying bare the stifled truth below; but there was no one to see except myself

Why should the Mass of Sainte Cécile bend my thoughts wandering among caverns whose walls blaze with ragged masses of virgin silver? What was it in the roar and turmoil of Broadway at six o'clock that flashed before my eyes the picture of a still Breton forest where sunlight filtered through spring foliage and Sylvia bent, half curiously, half tenderly, over a small green lizard, murmuring: "To think that this also is a little ward of God!

The mask of self-deception was not longer a mask for me, it was a part of me. Night lifted it, laying bare the stifled truth below; but there was no one to see except myself, and when day broke the mask fell back again of its own accord.