President and Chief Executive Officer of HarperCollins Publishers
February 1924 issue of Weird Tales:
Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the centuried grave. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but as we looked more closely we saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar. Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but we recognised it as the thing hinted of in the forbidden Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the ghastly soul-symbol of the corpse-eating cult of inaccesible Leng, in Central Asia. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the dead. (“The Hound”)
The jade amulet now reposed in a niche in our museum, and sometimes we burned strangely scented candles before it. We read much in Alhazred’s Necronomicon about its properties, and about the relation of ghouls’ souls to the objects it symolised; and were disturbed by what we read. (“The Hound”)
Chief Digital Officer and CEO, International Foreign Language
“[A] mad poet of Sanaá, in Yemen, who is said to have flourished during the period of the Ommiade caliphs, circa 700 A.D. He visited the ruins of Babylon and the subterranean secrets of Memphis and spent ten years alone in the great southern desert of Arabia — the Roba el Khaliyeh or "Empty Space" of the ancients — and "Dahna" or "Crimson" desert of the modern Arabs, which is held to be inhabited by protective evil spirits and monsters of death. Of this desert many strange and unbelievable marvels are told by those who pretend to have penetrated it. In his last years Alhazred dwelt in Damascus.„ ~ HPL: "History of the Necronomicon"
Executive Vice President, Operations
The nethermost caverns...are not for the fathoming of eyes that see; for their marvels are strange and terrific. Cursed the ground where dead thoughts live new and oddly bodied, and evil the mind that is held by no head. Wisely did Ibn Schacabao say, that happy is the tomb where no wizard hath lain, and happy the town at night whose wizards are all ashes. For it is of old rumour that the soul of the devil-bought hastes not from his charnel clay, but fats and instructs the very worm that gnaws; till out of corruption horrid life springs, and the dull scavengers of earth wax crafty to vex it and swell monstrous to plague it. Great holes secretly are digged where earth’s pores ought to suffice, and things have learnt to walk that ought to crawl. (“The Festival”)
Senior Vice President and Chief Financial Officer
Nor is it to be thought...that man is either the oldest or the last of earth’s
masters, or that the common bulk of life and substances walks alone. The Old Ones were, the Old
Ones are, and the Old Ones shall be. Not in the spaces we know, but
between them, They
walk serene and primal, undimensioned and to us unseen.
Yog-Sothoth knows the gate.
Yog-Sothoth is the gate.
Yog-Sothoth is the key and guardian of the gate. Past,
present, future, all are one in
Yog-Sothoth. He knows where the Old Ones broke through of
old, and where They shall break through again. He knows where They have trod earth’s
fields, and where They still tread them, and why no one can behold Them as They tread. By Their
smell can men somtimes know them near, but of Their semblance can no man know,
saving only in
the features of those They have begotten on mankind; and of those are there many sorts,
differing in likeness from man’s truest eidolon to that shape without sight or substance
Them. They walk unseen and foul in lonely places where the Words have been
spoken and the Rites howled through at their Seasons. The wind gibbers with Their voices, and
the earth mutters with Their consciousness. They bend the forest and crush the city, yet may not
forest or city behold the hand that smites. Kadath in the cold waste hath known Them, and what
man knows Kadath? The ice desert of the South and the sunken isles of Ocean hold stones where
Their seal is engraven, but who hath seen the deep frozen city or the sealed tower long
garlanded with seaweed and barnacles? Great Cthulhu is Their cousin, yet can he spy Them only
Iä! Shub-Niggurath! As a foulness shall ye know Them. Their hand is at your
throats, yet ye see Them not; and Their habitation is even one with your guarded threshold.
Yog-Sothoth is the key to the gate, whereby the spheres meet. Man rules now where They
ruled once; They shall soon rule where man rules now. After summer is winter, and after winter
summer. They wait patient and potent, for here shall They reign again. (“The Dunwich
Senior Vice President, Human Resources
Something about the scene reminded me of the strange and disturbing Asian paintings of Nicholas Roerich, and of the still stranger and more disturbing descriptions of the evilly fabled plateau of Leng which occur in the dreaded Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred. I was rather sorry, later on, that I had ever looked into that monstrous book at the college library. ( At the Mountains of Madness)
Dyer and Pabodie have read Necronomicon and seen Clark Ashton Smith’s nightmare paintings based on text, and will understand when I speak of Elder Things supposed to have created all earth-life as jest or mistake. ( At the Mountains of Madness)
These viscous masses were without doubt what Abdul Alhazred whispered about as the “shoggoths” in his frightful Necronomicon, though even that mad Arab had not hinted that any existed except in the dreams of those who had chewed a certain alkaloidal herb. ( At the Mountains of Madness)
Senior Vice President and General Counsel
Non-Euclidean calculus and quantum physics are enough to stretch any brain; and when one mixes them with folklore, and tries to trace a strange background of multi-dimensional reality behind the ghoulish hints of the Gothic tales and the wild whispers of the chimney-corner, one can hardly expect to be wholly free from mental tension. Gilman came from Haverhill, but it was only after he entered college in Arkham that he began to connect his mathematics with the fantastic legends of elder magic. Something in the air of the hoary town worked obscurely on his imagination. The professors at Miskatonic had urged him to slacken up, and had voluntarily cut down his course at several points. Moreover, they had stopped him from consulting the dubious old books on forbidden secrets that were kept under lock and key in a vault at the university library. But all these precautions came late in the day, so that Gilman had some terrible hints from the dreaded Necronomicon of Abdul Alhazred, the fragmentary Book of Eibon, and the suppressed Unaussprechlichen Kulten of von Junzt to correlate with his abstract formulae on the properties of space and the linkage of dimensions known and unknown. (“The Dreams in the Witch House”)
Senior Vice President, Corporate Communications HarperCollins Publishers
Remote in the desert of Araby lies the nameless city, crumbling and inarticulate, its low walls nearly hidden by the sands of uncounted ages. Itmust have been thus before the first stones of Memphis were laid, and whilethe bricks of Babylon were yet unbaked. There is no legend so old as togive it a name, or to recall that it was ever alive; but it is told of in whispersaround campfires and muttered about by grandams in the tents of sheiks, sothat all the tribes shun it without wholly knowing why. It was of this placethat Abdul Alhazred the mad poet dreamed on the night before he sang his unexplainable couplet: “That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die.”
President and Publisher, Harper Division
In the darkness there flashed before my mind fragments of my cherished treasury of daemoniac lore; sentences from Alhazred the mad Arab,paragraphs from the apocryphal nightmares of Damascius, and infamouslines from the delirious Image du Monde of Gauthier de Metz. I repeatedqueer extracts, and muttered of Afrasiab and the daemons that floated withhim down the Oxus; later chanting over and over again a phrase from oneof Lord Dunsany’s tales— “the unreverberate blackness of the abyss”. Oncewhen the descent grew amazingly steep I recited something in sing-songfrom Thomas Moore until I feared to recite more:“A reservoir of darkness, blackAs witches’ cauldrons are, when fill’dWith moon-drugs in th’ eclipse distill’d.Leaning to look if foot might pass Down thro’ that chasm, I saw, beneath, As far as vision could explore,The jetty sides as smooth as glass, Looking as if just varnish’d o’er With that dark pitch the Sea of DeathThrows out upon its slimy shore.”
President and Publisher, HarperOne, Amistad, Rayo/HarperCollins Espanol
Puffs of smoke from Erebus came intermittently, and one of the graduate assistants — a brilliant young fellow named Danforth — pointed out what looked like lava on the snowy slope; remarking that this mountain, discovered in 1840, hadundoubtedly been the source of Poe’s image when he wrote seven years later of
“ — the lavas that restlessly roll
Their sulphurous currents down YaanekIn the ultimate climes of the pole
—That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek
In the realms of the boreal pole.”
President and Publisher, Morrow Group
It was under the sea, at first for food and later for other purposes, that they first created earth-life — using available substances according to long known methods. The more elaborate experiments came after thea nnihilation of various cosmic enemies. They had done the same thing on other planets; having manufactured not only necessary foods, but certain multicellular protoplasmic masses capable of moulding their tissues into all sorts of temporary organs under hypnotic influence and thereby forming ideal slaves to perform the heavy work of the community. These viscousmasses were without doubt what Abdul Alhazred whispered about as the“shoggoths” in his frightful Necronomicon, though even that mad Arab hadnot hinted that any existed on earth except in the dreams of those who had chewed a certain alkaloidal herb. When the star-headed Old Ones on this planet had synthesised their simple food forms and bred a good supply of shoggoths, they allowed other cell-groups to develop into other forms of animal and vegetable life for
President and Publisher, HarperCollins ducks's Books
Many and multiform are the dim horrors of Earth, infesting her ways from the prime. They sleep beneath the unturned stone; they rise from the tree with its root; they move beneath the sea and in subterranean places; they dwell in the inmost adyta; they emerge betimes [sic; see note below] from the shutten sepulchre of haughty bronze and the low grave that is sealed with clay. There be some that are long known to man, and others as yet unknown that abide the terrible latter days of their revealing. Those which are the most dreadful and the loathliest of all are haply still to be declared. But among those that have revealed themselves aforetime and have made manifest their veritable presence, there is one which may not openly be named for its exceeding foulness. It is that spawn which the hidden dweller in the vaults has begotten upon mortality. „ ~ CIRCLE: "The Nameless Offspring"
President and Chief Executive Officer, HarperCollins Christian Publishing
"It must not be thought that the powers capable of greatest wickedness appear to us in the form of repellent familiars, and other, closely related demons. They do not. Small, visible demons are merely the effluvia which those vast forms of destructiveness have left in Their wake -- skin scrapings and even more tenuous shreds of evil that attach themselves to the living like leeches from some great slain leviathan of the deep that has wreaked havoc on a hundred coastal cities before plunging to its death with a thousand hurled harpoons quivering in its flesh.For the mightiest powers there can be no death and the hurled harpoons inflict, at most, surface injuries which heal quickly. I have said before and I shall say again until my tardily earned wisdom is accepted by my brethren as fact--in confronting that which has always been and always will be a master of magic can know only self-reproach and despair if he mistakes a temporary victory for one that he can never hope permanently to win." ~ Paragraphs 7 & 8, Page 30, Book 3, John Dee version. Slightly modernized. , CIRCLE: "A Fragment"
CEO, HarperCollins UK
"The nethermost caverns are not for the fathoming of eyes that see; for their marvels are strange and terrific. Cursed the ground where dead thoughts live new and oddly bodied, and evil the mind that is held by no head. Wisely did Ibn Schacabao say, that happy is the tomb where no wizard hath lain, and happy the town at night whose wizards are all ashes. For it is of old rumour that the soul of the devil-bought hastes not from his charnel clay, but fats and instructs the very worm that gnaws; till out of corruption horrid life springs, and the dull scavengers of earth wax crafty to vex it and swell monstrous to plague it. Great holes are digged where earth's pores ought to suffice, and things have learnt to walk that ought to crawl." ~ Arkham's Olaus Wormius Low Latin version , HPL: "The Festival"
Publisher and Chief Executive Officer, Harlequin
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