There are black zones of shadow close to our daily paths, and now and then some evil soul breaks a passage through. When that happens, the man who knows must strike before reckoning the consequences.

With hidden powers of unknown extent apparently at his disposal, Curwen was not a man who could safely be warned to leave town.

The one test of the really weird (story) is simply this--whether or not there be excited in the reader a profound sense of dread, and of contact with unknown spheres and powers; a subtle attitude of awed listening, as if for the beating of black wings or the scratching of outside shapes and entities on the known universe's utmost rim.

In relating the circumstances which have led to my confinement within this refuge for the demented, I am aware that my present position will create a natural doubt of the authenticity of my narrative.

Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.

Toil without song is like a weary journey without an end.

In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulu waits dreaming