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H. P. Lovecraft

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They say that that haunting memory-face is modeled from my own, as it was at twenty-five; but upon the marble base is carven a single name in the letters of Attica — HYPNOS.

 
H. P. Lovecraft

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Never could I tell, try as I might, what it actually was that I saw; nor could the still face tell, for although it must have seen more than I did, it will never speak again. But always I shall guard against the mocking and insatiate Hypnos, lord of sleep, against the night sky, and against the mad ambitions of knowledge and philosophy.

 
H. P. Lovecraft
 

What to say? That the end of love is a haunting. A haunting of dreams. A haunting of silence. Haunted by ghosts it is easy to become a ghost. Life ebbs. The pulse is too faint. Nothing stirs you. Some people approve of this and call it healing. It is not healing. A dead body feels no pain.

 
Jeanette Winterson
 

An extra-terrestrial philosopher, who had watched a single youth up to the age of twenty-one and had never come across any other human being, might conclude that it is the nature of human beings to grow continually taller and wiser in an indefinite progress towards perfection; and this generalization would be just as well founded as the generalization which evolutionists base upon the previous history of this planet.

 
Bertrand Russell
 

Let's face it, our reading and writing skills in our country...everyday there's a story in the paper about how shitty our schools are. They just keep getting worse, all the time. I read a book, it was filled with letters that soldiers in the Civil War had written to their girlfriends back home. These guys were kids. They were fourteen, fifteen-year old kids. Most of these guys had never even been to school, but every single letter in the book was incredible. Every single letter was like: (in southern accent) "My dearest Hannah, this morn finds me wrecked by the fiery pangs of your absence. I'll bear your cherished memory with me, as I battle the forces of tyranny and oppression." Now, think about what the typical letter from your average modern-day soldier, to his girlfriend back home in like, New Jersey's got to read like: (in New Jersey accent) "Dear Marie, it is hot as f**k out here. It is hard to fight these sand monkeys, wit your balls stuck to your legs. It is very, very hot out here because I am in the dessert. What else did I wanna aks you? Oh yeah: DON'T FUCK NOBODY TIL I GET BACK."

 
Greg Giraldo
 

Although no sculptured marble should rise to their memory, nor engraved stone bear record of their deeds, yet will their remembrance be as lasting as the land they honored.

 
Daniel Webster
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