Toil without song is like a weary journey without an end.

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.

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

It is absolutely necessary, for the peace and safety of mankind, that some of earth's dark, dead corners and unplumbed depths be left alone; lest sleeping abnormalities wake to resurgent life, and blasphemously surviving nightmares squirm and splash out of their black lairs to newer and wider conquests.

To the scientist there is the joy in pursuing truth which nearly counteracts the depressing revelations of truth.

In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulu waits dreaming

That's because only a real artist knows the actual anatomy of the terrible or the physiology of fear - the exact sort of lines and proportions that connect up with latent instincts or hereditary memories of fright, and the proper colour contrasts and lighting effects to stir the dormant sense of strangeness.