“But see, amid the mimic routA crawling shape intrude!A blood-red thing that writhes from outThe scenic solitude!It writhes!- it writhes!- with mortal pangsThe mimes become its food,And seraphs sob at vermin fangsIn human gore imbued.Out- out are the lights- out all!And, over each quivering form,The curtain, a funeral pall,Comes down with the rush of a storm,While the angels, all pallid and wan,Uprising, unveiling, affirmThat the play is the tragedy, "Man,"And its hero the Conqueror Worm.”

“Out- out are the lights- out all! And, over each quivering form,The curtain, a funeral pall,Comes down with the rush of a storm,While the angels, all pallid and wan,Uprising, unveiling, affirmThat the play is the tragedy, "Man,"And its hero the Conqueror Worm.”

“That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.”

“Wild inside; raging,writhing—yes, "writhing" was the word, writhing with desire. Butoutwardly he was hopelessly tame; outwardly—baa, baa, baa.”

“Nature is evil. Nature is conflict, violence, betrayal; worms that crawl through the skin and breen in the gut; thorns that poison; snakes that fight in writhing, heaving masses until all lie dead from another's poison. From nature we learned to tear the flesh off the bone and suck out the blook - and to enjoy it. Do you want to return to that state? I do not.”

“I'm doing one of three things: I'm writing. I'm staring out the window. Or I'm writhing on the floor.”