I was nearly unnerved at my proximity to a nameless thing at the bottom of a pit.

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of the infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.

An isolated person requires correspondence as a means of seeing his ideas as others see them, and thus guarding against the dogmatisms and extravagances of solitary and uncorrected speculation. No man can learn to reason and appraise from a mere perusal of the writing of others. If he live not in the world, where he can observe the public at first hand and be directed toward solid reality by the force of conversation and spoken debate, then he must sharpen his discrimination and regulate his perceptive balance by an equivalent exchange of ideas in epistolary form.

In search of Truth the hopeful zealot goes,But all the sadder tums, the more he knows!

When Randolph Carter was thirty he lost the key of the gate of dreams.

Someday our piecing together of knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas we shall either go mad or flee into the safety of a new dark age.

There are horrors beyond life's edge that we do not suspect, and once in a while man's evil prying calls them just within our range.