As I see it, life is an effort to grip before they slip through one's fingers and slide into oblivion, the startling, the ghastly or the blindingly exquisite fish of the imagination before they whip away on the endless current… — Mervyn Peake Copy Share Image
Gormenghast, that is, the main massing of the original stone, taken by itself would have displayed a certain ponderous architectural quality were it possible… — Mervyn Peake Copy Share Image
Through her, in microcosm, the wide earth sobbed. The starglobe sank in her; the colours faded. The death-dew rose and the wild birds in… — Mervyn Peake Copy Share Image
“Behind him she saw something which by contrast with the alien incalculable figure before her, was close and real. It was something which she… — Mervyn Peake Copy Share Image
“If seeing her an hour before her last Weak cough into all blackness I could yet Be held by chalk-white walls - The Consumptive.… — Mervyn Peake Copy Share Image
“He knew that he was caught up in one of those stretches of time when for anything to happen normally would be abnormal. The… — Mervyn Peake Copy Share Image
“Would you be so kind as to remove your redundant carcass from the door of this room, my man,’ he said, in his high,… — Mervyn Peake Copy Share Image
What is Time... That you speak of it so subserviently? Are we to be the slaves of the sun, that second-hand, overrated knob of… — Mervyn Peake Copy Share Image
“He could now inhabit the world of words, with, at the back of his melancholy, a solace he had not known before” — Mervyn Peake Copy Share Image
“He had emptied the bright goblet of romance; at a single gulp he had emptied it. The glass of it lay scattered on the… — Mervyn Peake Copy Share Image
“I want a big breakfast," said Fuchsia at last. "I want a lot to eat, I'm going to think today.” — Mervyn Peake Copy Share Image
“Before it had awoke to die on the instant of its waking, a score of bells and clocks had shouted midday and for a… — Mervyn Peake Copy Share Image
“Gormenghast. Withdrawn and ruinous it broods in umbra: the immemorial masonry: the towers, the tracts. Is all corroding? No. Through an avenue of spires… — Mervyn Peake Copy Share Image
