List of Clive Barker Quotes

I Never Want To Be The Producer That I Too Often Got.

I've Dealt With A Lot Of Producers Who Were Pricks And I'm Determined Not To Be That.

I Think That Horror Fiction Is One Of The Ways To Approach These Problems Of Death.

Perhaps Sunlight Had Always Been Luminous, And Doorways Signs Of Greater Passage Than That Of One Room To Another. But She’d Not Noticed It Until Now.

Whatever Capacity She Possesses To Supernaturally Beguile A Human Soul—and She Possesses Many—she Liked His Clear-sightedness Too Well, To Blind Him That Way.

For A Writer, And Particularly A Writer Of My Genre, Which Is The Fantastical, I Think That It's To My Advantage To Feel Remote From And Disconnected From The World Of Deal Making.

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.

We Have Great Cities To Visit: New York And Washington, Paris And London; And Further East, And Older Than Any Of These, The Legendary City Of Samarkand, Whose Crumbling Palaces And Mosques Still Welcome Travelers On The Silk Road. Weary Of Cities? Then We’ll Take To The Wilds. To The Islands Of Hawaii And The Mountains Of Japan, To Forests Where Civil War Dead Still Lie, And Stretches Of Sea No Mariner Ever Crossed. They All Have Their Poetry: The Glittering Cities And The Ruined, The Watery Wastes And The Dusty; I Want To Show You Them All. I Want To Show You Everything.

I Don't Take Accusations Of Selling Out Lightly.

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.

Books Should Make Somebody Look At How They Feel, Be Honest With Themselves.

Well, Here He Was. They Could Save Each Other, The Way The Poets Promised Lovers Should. He Was Mystery, He Was Darkness, He Was All She Had Dreamed Of. And If She Would Only Free Him He Would Service Her - Oh Yes - Until Her Pleasure Reached That Threshold That, Like All Thresholds, Was A Place Where The Strong Grew Stronger, And The Weak Perished. Pleasure Was Pain There, And Vice Versa. And He Knew It Well Enough To Call It Home.