any fool can be happy. It takes a man with real heart to make beauty out of the stuff that makes us weep.— Clive Barker
The most breathtaking Clive Barker quotes to get the best of your day
We are all our own graveyards, I believe;
we squat amongst the tombs of the people we were. If we're healthy, every day is a celebration, a Day of the Dead, in which we give thanks for the lives that we lived, and if we are neurotic we brood and mourn and wish that the past was still present.
I've learned two things in my life. One that love is the beginning and end of all meaning. And two that it is the same thing whatever shape our souls have taken on this journey. Love is love. Is love.
A monster lies in wait in me,a stew of wounds and misery.
But fiercer still in life and limb,the me that lies in wait in him
You just have to trust your own madness.
Darkness always had its part to play.
Without it, how would we know when we walked in the light? It’s only when its ambitions become too grandiose that it must be opposed, disciplined, sometimes—if necessary—brought down for a time. Then it will rise again, as it must.
You cut up a thing that's alive and beautiful to find out how it's alive and why it's beautiful, and before you know it, it's neither of those things, and you're standing there with blood on your face and tears in your sight and only the terrible ache of guilt to show for it.
Study nothing except in the knowledge that you already knew it.
Worship nothing except in adoration of your true self. And fear nothing except in the certainty that you are your enemy's begetter and its only hope of healing.
To be weird is... to be braved and to be strong and to be against the flow and that is wonderful condition.
I've never worked where it was hard to be gay.
Besides, being gay is a spectacular irrelevance to getting on with your life.
We’re too much ourselves. Afraid of letting go of what we are, in case we are nothing, and holding on so tight, we lose everything else.
So we make stories of our own, in fevered and envious imitation of our Maker, hoping that we'll tell, by chance, what God left untold. And finishing our tale, come to understand why we were born.
Everything is in flux: everything changes;
the body changes, the soul changes. We are capable of extraordinary self-transmutat ion and internal self-transforma tion.
Here is a list of terrible things, The jaws of sharks, a vultures wings The rabid bite of the dogs of war, The voice of one who went before, But most of all the mirror's gaze, Which counts us out our numbered days.
To dream in isolation can be properly splendid to be sure;
but to dream in company seems to me infinitely preferable.
Sung to the tune of O Christmas Tree O woe is me, O woe is me, I used to have a hamster tree, But it was eaten by a newt, And now I have no cuddly fruit, O woe is me, O woe is me, I used to have a hamster tree!
Nothing else wounds so deeply and irreparably.
Nothing else robs us of hope so much as being unloved by one we love
..She had that brand of pragmatism that would find her the first brewing tea after Armageddon.
Gather experience... Look at what you should not look at. A feeling of anxiety is the sure and certain evidence that you should do this.
Everybody is a book of blood; wherever we're opened, we're red.
It’s only when you’ve lost someone that you realize the nonsense of that phrase “It’s a small world”. It isn’t. It’s a vast, devouring world, especially if you’re alone.
I can see in your eyes that there’s no seam of untapped joy left in you.
The best of life has come and gone. Those days when sudden epiphanies swept over you, and you had visions of the rightness of all things and of your place amongst them; they’re history. You’re in a darker place now.
Give me B movies or give me death!
Zombies are the liberal nightmare. Here you have the masses, whom you would love to love, appearing at your front door with their faces falling off; and you're trying to be as humane as you possibly can, but they are, after all, eating the cat. And the fear of mass activity, of mindlessness on a national scale, underlies my fear of zombies.
As for theatre, there's ups and downs to everything.
Theatre is ephemeral. But that is part of its charm because you can always say the production was better than it was.
I have the normal complement of anxieties, neuroses, psychoses and whatever else - but I'm absolutely nothing special.
Witch, do this for me, Find me a moon made of longing.
Then cut it sliver thin, and having cut it, hang it high above my beloved's house, so that she may look up tonight and see it, and seeing it, sigh for me as I sigh for her, moon or no moon.
Superman is, after all, an alien life form. He is simply the acceptable face of invading realities.
At best you can hold death at bay, you can pretend it isn't there;
but to deny it totally is a sickness. And I think that horror fiction is one of the ways to approach these problems, and, perversely perhaps, to enjoy a vicarious confrontation with them.
All things are true. God's an Astronaut. Oz is Over the Rainbow, and Midian is where the monsters live." - Peloquin
One man's pornography is another man's theology.
You must be careful with kindness. It's usually mistaken for weakness by stupid people.
Well, it was most likely too late; there would not be time for me to flagellate myself for every dishonorable deed in that list, nor any chance to make good the harms I’d done. Minor harms, to be sure, in the scheme of things; but large enough to regret.
Even winter — the hardest season, the most implacable — dreams, as February creeps on, of the flame that will presently melt it away. Everything tires with time, and starts to seek some opposition, to save it from itself.
Welcome to the worst nightmare of all, reality!
The world had seen so many Ages: the Age of Enlightenment;
of Reformation; of Reason. Now, at last, the Age of Desire. And after this, an end to Ages; an end, perhaps, to everything.
One of the things I'm trying to do over and over again in my books is create new mythologies, create new ways to understand the complexity of the world. I think what mythology does is impress upon chaotic experience the patterns, hierarchies and shapes which allow us to interpret the chaos and make fresh sense of it.
I think that horror fiction is one of the ways to approach these problems of death.
Your flesh is killing your spirit. You have forsaken yourself.
I don't like to make a distinction between the writer and the painter , finally , because I do both things anyway . Everybody's dreaming and trying to put down their dreams in the way that their hand knows best . I feel as much a unity , as much comradeship , with painters as I do writers .
You can plan to be brave - it's even better if you just try to be brave.
[Horror fiction] shows us that the control we believe we have is purely illusory, and that every moment we teeter on chaos and oblivion.
Those old hypocrites. They talk about killing witches but the Good Book’s full of magic. Turning the Nile to blood and parting the Red Sea. What’s that if it’s not good old-fashioned magic? Want a little water into wine? No trouble! How about raising the dead man Lazarus? Just say the word!
If we have nothing to do but service our own pleasure - because society has taught us that's all we're worth and we're exiled from positions of authority from which we could actually shape society - then we just become hedonists. Eventually, despite how great it may look on Saturday night, come Monday morning there's just purposelessness.
Mutilation is the badge that can never be taken off, and sets us apart from all others. Pain is important to the bonding-a physical horror that bonds us ever tighter to all those who have partaken. The intensity of the experience helps to widen the gulf between us and those who have not shared.
I was a weird little kid. I was very irritable, bored, frustrated. I felt my imagination bubbling inside my head without having any way to express itself. Given a crayon and paper, I would not draw a train or a house. I would draw these monsters, beasts and demons.
Leavening the flat bread of what we know, with the yeast of what we dream may come to pass.
What I tried to do is deliver movies that have worked for me more than once.
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.
After a battle lasting many ages, The Devil won, And said to God (who had been his Maker): Lord, We are about to witness the unmaking of Creation By my hand. I would not wish you to think me cruel, So I beg you, take three things From this world before I destroy it. Three things, and then the rest will be wiped away.' God thought for a little time. And at last He said: No, there is nothing.' The Devil was surprised. Not even you, Lord?' he said. And God said: No. Not even me.
To you who have never died, may I say: Welcome to the world!
In this sense love is of a different order to any other phenomenon, for it may be both an event and a sign of that invisible mechanism I spoke of before; perhaps the finest sign, the most certain. In it’s throes we need neither luck nor science. We are the wheel, and the man who profits by it. We are the star, and the darkness it pierces. We are the butterfly, brief and beautiful.