Brian Lumley Quotes

I'm trying to make sense of lot of things with 'Tyrannosaur.' I'm trying to make sense of people who've left now. They're not here, they can't answer for themselves any more, they're gone. And I'm trying to make peace with those ghosts.

After a while I started to think of that as an image of something that went a lot deeper than the dead dog, which is you can't bring back anything to life.

My personal telephone book is a book of the dead now. I'm so old. Almost all of my friends have died, and I don't have the guts to take their names out of the book.

If there's anything you want to ask your parents, ask them before they go, because once they go, they're gone.

I try not to spend too much time with regret, although I wish I'd had more hang time with my dad.

I envy the dead.

The bottom line is I'm writing to save the dead. I'm writing to save the people I have lost, some of whose bodies are still walking around.

The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal - every other affliction to forget: but this wound we consider it a duty to keep open - this affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude.

There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.

I would give anything to sit down with my maternal grandmother and have a cup of tea and play Scrabble. She died 10 years ago.

I think to myself, How would things be for me if my dad was still alive? Would we get along? Would we argue? You know, we never got to the falling-out stage with each other.

Do i really want him dead? What i want... what i want is to have him back.

When you're alive and everything is going fine, why talk about things? Talking's for later, when talking's all there is that's left.

Ah what avails the sceptred race, Ah what the form divine! What every virtue, every grace! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.

Father's Day makes me wish I could talk to my Dad just one more time, instead of all the time.

And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn't crying for him at all, but for the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again.

The Things that never can come back, are several - Childhood - some forms of Hope - the Dead.

I know that something dies when i give up my books, and that my memory keeps going back to them with mournful nostalgia.

It was a long and gloomy night that gathered on me, haunted by the ghosts of many hopes, of many dear remembrances, many errors, many unavailing sorrows and regrets.

When you get to be my age there are more and more people you have known that you miss. Brion [Gysin], Antony Balch, Ian Summerville are ones I think of right away I was quite close to.

Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterward remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.

There are a hundred places where I fear To go, --so with his memory they brim! And entering with relief some quiet place Where never fell his foot or shone his face I say, 'There is no memory of him here!' And so stand stricken, so remembering him!

Sign of old age: distress at all leave-takings, all separations. And the sadness of memories, because I'm aware they're condemned to death.

But that was the best time of my life, and only now that it has gone from me forever -- only now do I realize it.