While my chosen form of story-writing is obviously a special and perhaps a narrow one, it is none the less a persistent and permanent type of expression, as old as literature itself. There will always be a certain small percentage of persons who feel a burning curiosity about unknown outer space, and a burning desire to escape from the prison-house of the known and the real into those enchanted lands of incredible adventure and infinite possibilities which dreams open up to us, and which things like deep woods, fantastic urban towers, and flaming sunsets momentarily suggest.

The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown

But more wonderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books is the secret lore of ocean.

Man is an essentially superstitious and fearful animal. Take away the herd's Christian gods and saints and they will without failing come to worship...something else.

I felt myself on the edge of the world; peering over the rim into a fathomless chaos of eternal night.

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.

Nyarlathotep . . . the crawling chaos . . . I am the last . . . I will tell the audient void. . . .