Robert E. Howard
Robert E. Howard
Robert Ervin Howardwas an American author who wrote pulp fiction in a diverse range of genres. He is well known for his character Conan the Barbarian and is regarded as the father of the sword and sorcery subgenre...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionWriter
Date of Birth22 January 1906
CountryUnited States of America
absolutely among dim enter foreign people profession seems shores unreal
Never the less, it is no light thing to enter into a profession absolutely foreign and alien to the people among which one's lot is cast; a profession which seems as dim and faraway and unreal as the shores of Europe.
live-life men civilization
Civilized men are more discourteous than savages because they know they can be impolite without having their skulls split, as a general thing.
snakes cities world
If I was wealthy I'd never do anything but poke around in ruined cities all over the world - and probably get snake-bit.
dream real men
Man can be that which he wishes to be; form and substance, they are but shadows. The mind, the ego, the essence of the god-dream -- that is real, that is immortal.
rome peachy
Rome got some peachy pastings when she tried to lick the Irish.
darkness wit straws
Wits and swords are as straws against the wisdom of the Darkness...
strong-women strong circus
I reckon if I ever marry, she will have to be a strong woman in a circus or something.
dream real yesterday
I have gone into yesterday and tomorrow and both were as real as today -- which is like the dreams of ghosts!
no-fear hell torture
I have no fear of the Hereafter. An orthodox hell could hardly be more torture than my life has been.
oil bully fields
Some mechanism in my sub-consciousness took the dominant characteristics of various prize-fighters, gunmen, bootleggers, oil field bullies, gamblers, and honest workmen I had come in contact with, and combining them all, produced the amalgamation I call Conan the Cimmerian.
dream men wind
The sea-road is good for wanderers and landless men. There is quenching of thirst on the grey paths of the winds, and the flying clouds to still the sting of lost dreams.
kings ocean men
There comes, even to kings, the time of great weariness. Then the gold of the throne is brass, the silk of the palace becomes drab. The gems in the diadem and upon the fingers of the women sparkle drearily like the ice of white seas; the speech of men is as the empty rattle of a jester's bell and the feel comes of things unreal; even the sun is copper in the sky and the breath of the green ocean is no longer fresh.