What a man does for pay is of little significance. What he is, as a sensitive instrument responsive to the world's beauty, is everything!

Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.

The end is near. I hear a noise at the door, as of some immense slippery body lumbering against it. It shall not find me. God, that hand! The window! The window!

The darkness always teemed with unexplained sound - and yet he sometimes shook with fear lest the noises he heard subside and allow him to hear certain other fainter noises which he suspected were lurking behind them.

Almost nobody dances sober, unless they happen to be insane.

The cat is cryptic, and close to strange things which men cannot see.

Our brains deliberately make us forget things, to prevent insanity