Quotes from Clive Barker

Women had always existed: they had lived, a species to themselves, with the demons. But they had wanted playmates: and together they had made men.

It was what his mother would have done in the circumstances. Boiled some fresh water, warmed the pot and counted out the spoonfuls of tea. Setting domestic order against the chaos, in the hope of winning some temporary reprieve from the vale of tears.

Was that what made him a European? To want to have his story told once more, passed down the line to another eager listener who would, in his time, disregard its lesson and repeat his own suffering? Ah, how he loved tradition.

watching the ice-floes dance together on the black water.

I have deeper journeys to take. Metaphysical journeys to see Christ. Shaman journeys. It's what I have been elected by God to do.

O little one, My little one, Come with me, Your life is done. Forget the future, Forget the past. Life is over: Breathe your last." ? Clive Barker, Abarat

Here let me be quite clear: the primary impulse behind such creations is not escapism. That implies a kind of cowardice in the face of the world, which is not what inspires such visions. Quite the reverse. It is a hunger to see more clearly that fuels the true fantasist. A desire to express the world's transforming heart.

He'd never seen such a look on any human face: such a wilderness of innocent malice. A

What marked this place as another Dominion was the people in the streets outside, some human, many not, all retreating from the wind or the commotions it carried.

He had certainly set his eyes on more voluptuous creatures , but something about her lack of glamour engaged him. Such women were in his experience often more entertaining company than beauties like Julia. They could be flattered or bullied into acts the beauties would never countenance and be grateful for the attention.

La narrativa horror] ci mostra che il controllo che crediamo di avere è puramente illusorio e che ogni momento vacilliamo nel caos e nell'oblio.

You leave marks on people, Gentle. That's a responsibility you can't just shrug off.

By and large I think art is made by people who have discipline married to talent in sufficiently large amounts to work even if they don't feel like it. Anybody can get maudlin and decide to write poetry at 11 at night; the question is, can you do it at 8:30 on a Monday morning..?

Somebody's voice rose in prayer, another simply sobbed. What grief was this? Not his passing, surely. He was too minor to earn such lamentation.

Handwriting everything, for me, is psychologically useful because it keeps my writing economical. I think there are word processor styles emerging. Something does seem to happen to a writer's style when he works on a word processor. When you hand write a thing the size of Weaveworld (584 pages) you want to make sure every word counts because it's such a huge labour to get it down.

Isn't there anything you care about?" "All is death, woman. All is pain. Love breeds loss. Isolation breeds resentment. No matter which way we turn, we are beaten. Our only true inheritance is death. And our only legacy, dust.

I keep a bedside journal. I am very affected by dream information. They might be scary to other people, but they're mine, so they don't feel scary. I'd wake up in a cold sweat if I didn't dream these things...

Let's prioritise here. At the risk of stating the obvious, this isn't going to be easy. We need to find Norma as fast as we can, avoid the powerful demon that wants me as his slave, and then get the fuck out of Hell. I'm sure we'll encounter some heinous, unthinkable, soul-scarring shit along the way, but hopefully we make it out alive.

There is a difference, he said, between the wise man who gives up because the task is beyond him, and the coward who does not even consider trying. You are brave, but bravery is not enough.

The sun rose like a stripper, keeping its glory well covered by cloud till it seemed there'd be no show at all, then casting its rags off one by one.

but she felt as though whatever she'd been given in the Devil's Country it was affecting her mind, not her body, and it was not doing anything remotely healing. Quite the reverse.

Whatever you do, don't look back.

That which is imagined need never be lost.

Memories can be treacherous. We all have a hunger to rearrange our histories so as to remember ourselves in the most flattering light.