Something like fear chilled me as I sat there in the small hours alone-I say alone, for one who sits by a sleeper is indeed alone; perhaps more alone than he can realise.

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

Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.

I never ask a man what his business is, for it never interests me. What I ask him about are his thoughts and dreams.

The basis of all true cosmic horror is violation of the order of nature, and the profoundest violations are always the least concrete and describable.

But are not the dreams of poets and the tales of travellers notoriously false?

Creative minds are uneven, and the best of fabrics have their dull spots.