Hugh B. Cave
Hugh B. Cave was an American author renowned for his prolific contributions to the genres of horror, mystery, and adventure fiction. Born in 1910, he began his writing career in the 1930s, quickly establishing himself as a versatile storyteller. Cave's work often reflected his fascination with the macabre and the supernatural, drawing inspiration from his experiences in the Caribbean, where he spent a significant portion of his life. His notable works include 'The Darkest America' and 'The Devil's Playground,' which showcase his ability to weave intricate plots with rich, atmospheric settings. Cave's significance in the literary world lies not only in his extensive bibliography, which includes over 300 short stories and numerous novels, but also in his role as a pioneer in the field of pulp fiction. He contributed to various magazines and anthologies, helping to shape the landscape of genre fiction during the mid-20th century. His stories often explored themes of isolation, fear, and the unknown, resonating with readers and influencing subsequent writers in the horror genre. Cave's legacy endures through his work, which continues to captivate fans of speculative fiction and horror literature.
Famous Quotes
View all 6 quotes“I am convinced that if stories such as these have any lasting value, it is in revealing the kind of work young pulp-writers were doing in those days when rates were low and one had to make a typewriter smoke in order to keep eating.””
“Okay,” Colby surveyed her. She had flung a bath robe loosely around her shoulders, but it didn’t conceal her glowing, luscious figure. Colby’s breath came in short gasps as he looked at her. She smiled at him, slowly drew the robe closer about her sweetly rounded body. “Business before pleasure,” she said softly. “And how I hate to put it first. How about seeing you sometime, sister? I could fall for a gal like you!” They moved toward the door. She tripped on a small rug. Colby leaped to her side, put both arms about her. Somehow he knew that she would let him kiss her. He held her to him, felt the warmth of her body pressing close to him, felt the tenseness of her breathing. Death lay almost beside them, but they saw none of it. They saw only that life and love lay before them. He kissed her once. She returned his kiss, pushed him away. “It”
“The broad-shouldered artist grabbed her and kissed her hungrily. He buried his face in the soft valley between her firm bosoms, “My very dear… he breathed.””
