Randolph Carter Quotes

When Randolph Carter was thirty he lost the key of the gate of dreams.

Hei! Aa-shanta 'nygh! You are off! Send back earth's gods to their haunts on unknown Kadath, and pray to all space that you may never meet me in my thousand other forms. Farewell, Randolph Carter, and beware; for I am Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos.

He loved who he was: Randolph Carter, master dreamer, adventurer. To him, she had been landscape, an articulate crag he could ascend, a face to put to his place. When were women ever anything but footnotes to men's tales?

...la satisfacción de un momento es la ruina del siguiente.

He was in his late twenties and had a crisp, British accent that called to mind boarding schools and polo matches and names that were spelled Chumbledown but were pronounced Randolph.

But I do not fear him now, for I suspect that he has known horrors beyond my ken. Now I fear for him.

All descended lines of beings of the finite dimensions, continued the waves, and all stages of growth in each one of these beings, are merely manifestations of one archetypal and eternal being in the space outside dimensions. Each local being—son, father, grandfather, and so on—and each stage of individual being—infant, child, boy, young man, old man—is merely one of the infinite phases of that same archetypal and eternal being, caused by a variation in the angle of the consciousness-plane which cuts it. Randolph Carter at all ages; Randolph Carter and all his ancestors both human and pre-human, terrestrial and pre-terrestrial; all these were only phases of one ultimate, eternal “Carter” outside space and time—phantom projections differentiated only by the angle at which the plane of consciousness happened to cut the eternal archetype in each case.

She hadn't loved Randolph Carter. He had been a man like many, so wrapped and rapt in his own story that there was no room for the world around him except as it served his own tale: the black men of Parg and Kled and Sona Nyl, the gold men of Thorabon and Ophir and Rinar; and all the women invisible everywhere, except when they brought him drinks or sold him food - all walk-on parts in the play that was Randolph Carter, or even wallpaper.

Then in the slow creeping course of eternity the utmost cycle of the cosmos churned itself into another futile completion, and all things became again as they were unreckoned kalpas before. Matter and light were born anew as space once had known them; and comets, suns and worlds sprang flaming into life, though nothing survived to tell that they had been and gone, been and gone, always and always, back to no first beginning.

For though Kuranes was a monarch in the land of dream, with all imagined pomps and marvels, splendours and beauties, ecstasies and delights, novelties and excitements at his command, he would gladly have resigned for ever the whole of his power and luxury and freedom for one blessed day as a simple boy in that pure and quiet England, that ancient, beloved England which had moulded his being and of which he must always be immutably a part.

So, Randolph Carter, in the name of the Other Gods I spare you and charge you to serve my will. I charge you to seek that sunset city which is yours, and to send thence the drowsy truant gods for whom the dream-world waits. Not hard to find is that roseal fever of the gods, that fanfare of supernal trumpets and clash of immortal cymbals, that mystery whose place and meaning have haunted you through the halls of waking and the gulfs of dreaming, and tormented you with hints of vanished memory and the pain of lost things awesome and momentous. Not hard to find is that symbol and relic of your days of wonder, for truly, it is but the stable and eternal gem wherein all that wonder sparkles crystallised to light your evening path. Behold! It is not over unknown seas but back over well-known years that your quest must go; back to the bright strange things of infancy and the quick sun-drenched glimpses of magic that old scenes brought to wide young eyes.

Nothing has been distorted or concealed, and if anything remains vague, it is only because of the dark cloud which has come over my mind—that cloud and the nebulous nature of the horrors which brought it upon me.

But you, Randolph Carter, have braved all things of earth’s dreamland, and burn still with the flame of quest. You came not as one curious, but as one seeking his due...

It is the glory of Boston’s hillside roofs and western windows aflame with sunset; of the flower-fragrant Common and the great dome on the hill and the tangle of gables and chimneys in the violet valley where the many-bridged Charles flows drowsily. These things you saw, Randolph Carter, when your nurse first wheeled you out in the springtime, and they will be the last things you will ever see with eyes of memory and of love.

Scent of the sea and fragrance of the fields; spell of the dark woods and joy of the orchards and gardens at dawn. These, Randolph Carter, are your city; for they are yourself. New-England bore you, and into your soul she poured a liquid loveliness which cannot die. This loveliness, moulded, crystallised, and polished by years of memory and dreaming, is your terraced wonder of elusive sunsets...

Far away in a valley of your own childhood, Randolph Carter, play the heedless Great Ones.

A perfectly kept house is the sign of a misspent life.’ – MARY RANDOLPH CARTER

Randolph Carter no se dejó vencer por el miedo. Al contrario, contestó sin emplear tampoco ningún sonido ni lenguaje, y le rindió el homenaje que había aprendido del Necronomicon. Porque esta silueta era nada menos que la de Aquel ante quien ha temblado el mundo entero desde que Lomar emergió de las aguas y los Hijos de las Brumas de Fuego habían bajado a la Tierra para enseñarle al hombre la Sabiduría Arquetípica. Era, en efecto, el espantoso Guía y Guardián del Umbral: UMR AT-AWIL, El Más Antiguo, cuyo nombre ha traducido el escriba por EL DE LA VIDA PROLONGADA. ==========

When Randolph Carter was thirty he lost the key of the gate of dreams. Prior to that time he had made up for the prosiness of life by nightly excursions to strange and ancient cities beyond space, and lovely, unbelievable garden lands across ethereal seas; but as middle age hardened upon him he felt these liberties slipping away little by little, until at last he was cut off altogether.

El racionalismo, en ascenso, pero aún joven, no sólo niega la validez objetiva de la magia, sino que, llevado por la radicalidad propia de toda negación adialéctica, tiene tendencia a reprimir la magia en bloque, negando incluso su eficacia subjetiva. Este racionalismo joven y mecanicista engendra, por contraste, un irracionalismo que, en vez de limitarse a reivindicar la eficacia subjetiva de la magia, llega hasta postular su eficacia objetiva y propugnar la destrucción de la razón. Ambas posturas son igualmente erróneas y se hallan en mutua dependencia.

El mundo objetivo se ha desacralizado, pero precisamente al desacralizarse el mundo objetivo debería haberse sacralizado en igual medida el reino imaginario del Yo, y justamente esta sacralización está reprimida. Se han perdido la proyección y la creencia viva, pero subsiste y es muy licita la vivencia profunda. Nadie cree ya en Plutón, ni en Proserpina, ni er los númenes del mundo subterráneo, ni en el lapis philoso-phorum como realidades objetivas, pero en todos nosotros existe una necesidad más o menos reprimida de vivir experiencias numinosas, la cual, evitando la censura impuesta por la lógica correspondiente a nuestra visión objetiva del mundo, se manifiesta en fábulas, en relatos fantásticos, e sueños de aventuras imposibles, que ya no son irracionalista porque se saben de antemano falsos, porque no tienen preten siones de verdad objetiva; en una palabra: porque se expr san en el plano de la estética. Las artes fantásticas, pues, constituyen intentos vital instintivos, necesarios, de integrar lo numinoso en el Yo decir, de vivirlo y expresarlo libremente y en toda su intensidad, pero sin alterar por ello la fría visión objetiva del cosmos.

Está llegando el día en que nuestra estrecha razón actual se amplie, adquiera su mayoría de edad y acepte lo irracional como irracional y, precisamente por serlo, no lo reprima. La represión es siempre un sintoma de inseguridad Cuando la razón esté segura de si misma, la expresión de lo irracional no será blasfemia ni pecado de lesa razón, sino simple juego y, por tanto, alivio. La razón no tendrá que aferrarse a lo objetivo para no ahogarse, sino que sabrá nadar perfectamente -y bucear- en las turbias aguas de lo irracional, volviendo al aire puro de la superficie cuando le plazca.

There were equally fine, and many more, country houses built in the 18th century in Virginia, by members of the 100 leading families—Byrds, Carters, Lees, Randolphs, Fitzhughes, and so on—of which many, such as Westover, Stratford, and Shirley, survive. Drayton Hall, built 1738–42, on the Ashley River in South Carolina, a good example of the way local American architects used classical models, is based on Palladio’s Villa Pisani, happily survived the Revolutionary and Civil wars and is now part of the American Trust for Historical Preservation.

L. Wilson, editor of the Chicago Evening Journal; and General Henry Eugene Davies, who wrote a pamphlet, Ten Days on the Plains, describing the hunt. Among the others rounding out the group were Leonard W. and Lawrence R. Jerome; General Anson Stager of the Western Union Telegraph Company; Colonel M. V. Sheridan, the general's brother; General Charles Fitzhugh; and Colonel Daniel H. Rucker, acting quartermaster general and soon to be Phil Sheridan's father-in-law. Leonard W. Jerome, a financier, later became the grandfather of Winston Churchill when his second daughter, jenny, married Lord Randolph Churchill. The party arrived at Fort McPherson on September 22, 1871. The New York Herald's first dispatch reported: "General Sheridan and party arrived at the North Platte River this morning, and were conducted to Fort McPherson by General Emery [sic], commanding. General Sheridan reviewed the troops, consisting of four companies of the Fifth Cavalry. The party start[s] across the country tomorrow, guided by the renowned Buffalo Bill and under the escort of Major Brown, Company F, Fifth Cavalry. The party expect[s] to reach Fort Hays in ten days." After Sheridan's review of the troops, the general introduced Buffalo Bill to the guests and assigned them to their quarters in large, comfortable tents just outside the post, a site christened Camp Rucker. The remainder of the day was spent entertaining the visitors at "dinner and supper parties, and music and dancing; at a late hour they retired to rest in their tents." The officers of the post and their ladies spared no expense in their effort to entertain their guests, to demonstrate, perhaps, that the West was not all that wild. The finest linens, glassware, and china the post afforded were brought out to grace the tables, and the ballroom glittered that night with gold braid, silks, velvets, and jewels. Buffalo Bill dressed for the hunt as he had never done before. Despite having retired late, "at five o'clock next morning . . . I rose fresh and eager for the trip, and as it was a nobby and high-toned outfit which I was to accompany, I determined to put on a little style myself. So I dressed in a new suit of buckskin, trimmed along the seams with fringes of the same material; and I put on a crimson shirt handsomely ornamented on the bosom, while on my head I wore a broad sombrero. Then mounting a snowy white horse-a gallant stepper, I rode down from the fort to the camp, rifle in hand. I felt first-rate that morning, and looked well." In all probability, Louisa Cody was responsible for the ornamentation on his shirt, for she was an expert with a needle. General Davies agreed with Will's estimation of his appearance that morning. "The most striking feature of the whole was ... our friend Buffalo Bill.... He realized to perfection the bold hunter and gallant sportsman of the plains." Here again Cody appeared as the