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

“In a life where waking hours are draped in the costume of horrid nightmare, where reality has suddenly become questionable, it's easy to be scared by dreams.”

“Who are you?""I'm the stuff of your nightmares... Actually, I'm the stuff your nightmares wake up screaming about”

“…no biography of his existed in German even though sales of his books were rising in Germany as well as the rest of Europe and even in the United States, which likes vanished writers (vanished writers or millionaire writers) or the legend of vanished writers…”

“The peahens waddled round, following the peacock wherever he went. He couldn't see in the night, so he wandered around aimlessly in the pen. Go the other way, she wanted to scream at the gimpy peahen. Stop worrying about where he's going and just rest.”

“[F]or us, death is stronger than life, it pulls like a wind through the dark, all our cries burlesqued in joyless laugther; and with the garbage of liveliness stuffed down us untill our guts burst bleeding green, we go screaming round the world, dying, in our rented rooms, nightmare hotels, eternal homes of the transient heart.”