No new horror can be more terrible than the daily torture of the commonplace.

We shall see that at which dogs howl in the dark, and that at which cats prick up their ears after midnight.

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

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

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

There are black zones of shadow close to our daily paths, and now and then some evil soul breaks a passage through. When that happens, the man who knows must strike before reckoning the consequences.

At night, when the objective world has slunk back into its cavern and left dreamers to their own, there come inspirations and capabilities impossible at any less magical and quiet hour. No one knows whether or not he is a writer unless he has tried writing at night.