There be those who say that things and places have souls, and there be those who say they have not; I dare not say, myself, but I will tell of The Street.

Memories and possibilities are even more hideous than realities.

And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished, for the small hours were rent with the screams of nightmare.

There was really nothing for serious men to do in cases of wild gossip, for superstitious rustics will say and believe anything.

I am a student of life, and don't want to miss any experience. There's poetry in this sort of thing, you know--or perhaps you don't know, but it's all the same.

The Old Ones were, the Old Ones are, and the Old Ones shall be. Not in the spaces we know, but between them. They walk serene and primal, undimensioned and to us unseen.

That which we call substance and reality is shadow and illusion, and that which we call shadow and illusion is substance and reality.