Welcome To Night Vale Quotes

Wednesday has been canceled due to a scheduling error. ~ Joseph Fink

Each day the sun rises and sets. The moon pulls the tides. Our hearts beat. Our loved ones love us back. And we share our inhales and exhales with the great organism that is our tiny planet. ~ Joseph Fink

But, as you watch the sun rise again tomorrow morning, think to yourself: past performance is not a predictor of future results. And then force a smile, drink another cup of coffee, and try not to look down as you walk across the soil that will eventually fill your lifeless lungs and repurpose your corpse. ~ Joseph Fink

Time is like wax, dripping from a candle flame. In the moment, it is molten and falling, with the capability to transform into any shape. Then the moment passes, and the wax hits the tabletop, and solidifies into the shape it will always be. It becomes the past, a solid, single record of what happened, still holding in its wild curves and contours the potential of every shape it could have held. ~ Joseph Fink

Sometimes you go through things that seem huge at the time, like a mysterious glowing cloud devouring your entire community. While they're happening, they feel like the only thing that matters and you can hardly imagine that there's a world out there that might have anything else going on. And then the glow cloud moves on. And you move on. And the event is behind you. And you may find, as time passes, that you remember it less and less. Or absolutely not at all, in my case. ~ Cecil Baldwin

Science was meant to be hard. After all, what was science but a bunch of bored human beings trying to challenge themselves when faith became too easy? ~ Joseph Fink, Jeffrey Cranor

Your music, your lyrics, the leaden prose of your life that proves that everything you are and are not, the structures you build to make futility seem like meaning, the dead and living – who will soon be dead, who will soon be gone, who will soon be smoke – rising in columns and forming clouds in the night sky. For now and ever, by the will of dead and dying gods. ~ Joseph Fink

It's nice to have a station pet. Wish it wasn't trapped in a hovering prison in the men's bathroom, but listen: no pet is perfect. It becomes perfect when you learn to accept it for what it is. ~ Cecil Baldwin

Sleep heavily and know that I am here with you now. The past is gone, and cannot harm you anymore. And while the future is fast coming for you, it always flinches first and settles in as the gentle present. This now, this us? We can cope with that. We can do this together. You and I, drowsily, but comfortably. ~ Cecil Baldwin

You may not live through it. And if you do, the you that lived through it will not be the same you that lived before it. In that sense, you will definitely not exist after, and I'm sorry. ~ Joseph Fink, Jeffrey Cranor

The moon's weird though, right? It's there, and there, and then suddenly it's not. And it seems to be pretty far up. Is it watching us? If not, what is it watching instead? Is there something more interesting than us? Hey, watch us moon! We may not always be the best show in the universe, but we try. ~ Cecil Baldwin

Remember: if you see something, say nothing, and drink to forget. ~ Cecil Baldwin

If you say guns kill people one more time, I will shoot you with a gun, and you will, coincidentally, die. ~ Joseph Fink

On Sunday, a lambent crevice opened up in the street outside my house,
By Tuesday birds were flying into it.
"I probably won't miss you," my mother said,
"I'm only interested in the end of the world," I replied.

Many find it difficult to breath
without the atmosphere
but we knew how. We just stopped breathing.

We're at the Moonlite All-Nite Dinner and they're serving up fruit from the plants growing out of the waitress.
The CLOSED sign whispers, "Please, don't touch me."
We watch bodies fall to the ground outside like deep-sea creatures surfacing.

You turn to me and ask, "Do you ever think about suicide?"
I look away from you and close my eyes,
eat the raspberries to confuse the blood in my mouth.

Now you're in the only car in the parking lot at midnight and you're watching me throw stones at the moon,
which hangs low in the sky so he can look into your house.
Your sister tried to touch him from her bedroom window once, and he flinched; now he and the oceans watch her with a quiet concern.
The lilac sky is trying to rest her head on his shoulder, all trees gradually growing through her.

A hummingbird whispers to you, "Be careful, under her dress is her skin," and then builds his nest in the middle of the highway,
I look back at you, and you close your eyes. ~ Katherine Ciel

And now a brief public service announcement. Alligators: can they kill your children? Yes. ~ Cecil Baldwin

We have nothing to speak about. There never was. Words are an unnecessary trouble. Expression is time wasting away. Any communication is just a yelp in the darkness. I am speaking now but I am saying nothing. I am just making noises, and, as it happens, they are organized in words and you should not draw meaning from this. ~ Cecil Baldwin

Perfection is not real. Perfection is not human. Carlos is not perfect- no, even better- he is imperfect. Everything about him, and us, and all of this is imperfect. And those imperfections in our reality are the seams and cracks into which our outsized love can seep and pool. ~ Cecil Baldwin

The ocean is full of things that would like to kill you. And other things that would ignore or not understand you, and then eventually kill you. Because they do not have the same understanding or valuation of life and death as humans. There are still other things that you would probably kill, simply because you think they are beautiful, and you want to possess beautiful things because you believe that beauty and sentience are mutually exclusive. ~ Joseph Fink

Settling in to be another clear night and pretty evening here in Night Vale. I hope all of you out there have someone to sleep through it with. Or, at least, good memories of when you did. ~ Joseph Fink

Fine!" she shouted at it.
"Okay!" shouted a man in a nearby booth at a stain on his tie.
In the kitchen, another man, in a floral apron and a hairnet, nodded at a tub of soaking dishes "Yep," he said.
People often found themselves assenting to inanimate objects in the Moonlight All-Nite. ~ Joseph Fink, Jeffrey Cranor

Diane felt a gentle hand touch her own, a sympathetic pat. Dawn had both hands on her coffee cup. Diane looked back down at her own hand, and saw the final quick motion of a gray-gloved hand disappearing under her table. ~ Joseph Fink, Jeffrey Cranor

WE WILL NEVER BE THE SAME AGAIN.

BUT HERE'S A LITTLE SECRET FOR YOU: NO ONE IS EVER THE SAME THING AGAIN AFTER ANYTHING. YOU ARE NEVER THE SAME TWICE, AND MUCH OF YOUR UNHAPPINESS COMES FROM TRYING TO PRETEND THAT YOU ARE. ACCEPT THAT YOU ARE DIFFERENT EACH DAY, AND DO SO JOYFULLY, RECOGNIZING IT FOR THE GIFT IT IS. WORK WITHIN THE DESIRES AND GOALS OF THE PERSON YOU ARE CURRENTLY, UNTIL YOU AREN'T THAT PERSON ANYMORE, AND EVERYTHING CHANGES ONCE AGAIN. ~ Welcome To Night Vale, Episode 75 - “Through The Narrow Place”

And night falls on you too. You have survived, survived everything up to this moment. Grip tight, hum, laugh, cry. Forget nothing and think many things of it.
Goodnight. Goodnight. Goodnight. ~ Joseph Fink

While dragging herself up she had to hang onto the rail. Her twisted progress was that of a cripple. Once on the open deck she felt the solid impact of the black night, and the mobility of the accidental home she was about to leave.
Although Lucette had never died before - no, dived before, Violet - from such a height, in such a disorder of shadows and snaking reflections, she went with hardly a splash through the wave that humped to welcome her. That perfect end was spoiled by her instinctively surfacing in an immediate sweep - instead of surrendering under water to her drugged lassitude as she had planned to do on her last night ashore if it ever did come to this. The silly girl had not rehearsed the technique of suicide as, say, free-fall parachutists do every day in the element of another chapter.
Owing to the tumultuous swell and her not being sure which way to peer through the spray and the darkness and her own tentaclinging hair - t,a,c,l - she could not make out the lights of the liner, an easily imagined many-eyed bulk mightily receding in heartless triumph. Now I've lost my next note.
Got it.
The sky was also heartless and dark, and her body, her head,and particularly those damned thirsty trousers, felt clogged with Oceanus Nox, n,o,x. At every slap and splash of cold wild salt, she heaved with anise-flavored nausea and there was an increasing number, okay, or numbness, in her neck and arms. As she began losing track of herself, she thought i ~ Vladimir Nabokov

When Maggie became conscious that she was the person he sought, she felt, in spite of all the thought that had gone before, a glowing gladness at heart. Her eyes and cheeks were still brightened with her childlike enthusiasm in the dance; her whole frame was set to joy and tenderness; even the coming pain could not seem bitter
she was ready to welcome it as a part of life, for life at this moment seemed a keen vibrating consciousness poised above please or pain. This one, this last night, she might expand unrestrainedly in the warmth of the present without those chill, eating thoughts of the past and the future. ~ George Eliot

In the top drawer of my bedside table, there's a small box. It contains everything we need to make our night pleasurable. If you have to, leave everything else behind but bring that box."
She snorted as if in derision - but it was a weak snort. She walked toward the steps again.
"Amy."
She turned back to him. "What?"
"Did you notice I didn't ask for a nightshirt?"
She glanced at his lit in her hand and wondered why he told her that.
Then she knew why.
He had just told her he slept nude.
Every night in the cellar right beneath her bedchamber, his naked body remained at the ready to welcome her. Now that she knew it, she could never escape the image ... or the temptation. ~ Christina Dodd

J.J. Moses was a star football player in college. He was drafted by the Houston Texans and played for them for six years. He was the kick returner and punt returner. He was as fast as lightning! When he had the ball, he electrified fans, darting here and there. He was amazing to watch.
Playing in the National Football League in front of millions of fans, J.J. was at the pinnacle of success. But during the off seasons--and any time he didn't have a game--do you know where J.J. was every Saturday night?
J.J. was not at home with his feet up. He was not out enjoying his celebrity. He was at our church in Houston, serving others as an usher, helping people to their seats, showing visitors around, passing the offering plates, and making everyone feel welcome.
Many of those who came to church didn't know he was a star football player. In the stadium all the lights were on him. Fans wanted his autograph or pictures with him. J.J. could have allowed his fame to go to his head and thought, "I'm big-time, I'm not serving as an usher. I'm not waiting on people--I want them to wait on me."
Instead, J.J. told me, "My greatest honor was not playing in front of eighty thousand people in the stadium each week. My greatest honor was ushering in my section at Lakewood every Saturday night."
J.J. offers testimony to the fact that you are never too big to serve, never too important, never too influential. ~ Joel Osteen

Ged saw all these things from outside and apart, alone, and his heart was very heavy in him, though he would not admit to himself that he was sad. As night fell he still lingered in the streets, reluctant to go back to the inn. He heard a man and a girl talking together merrily as they came down the street past him towards the town square, and all at once he turned, for he knew the man's voice.

He followed and caught up with the pair, coming up beside them in the late twilight lit only by distant lantern-gleams. The girl stepped back, but the man stared at him and then flung up the staff he carried, holding it between them as a barrier to ward off the threat or act of evil. And that was somewhat more than Ged could bear. His voice shook a little as he said, "I thought you would know me, Vetch."

Even then Vetch hesitated for a moment.

"I do know you," he said, and lowered the staff and took Ged's hand and hugged him round the shoulders-" I do know you! Welcome, my friend, welcome! What a sorry greeting I gave you, as if you were a ghost coming up from behind– and I have waited for you to come, and looked for you- ~ Ursula K. Le Guin

I don't know. They could put up a warning sign or something. Hello. Welcome to Hindstrap. We will murder you in the night and eat your bloody face if you stay past sunset. Try the pies. Martna Maily makes them fresh daily. ~ Robert Jordan

The voice came from the night all around him, in his head and out of it.
What do you want?' it repeated.
He wondered if he dared to turn and look, realised he did not.
'Well? You come here every night, in a place where the living are not welcome. I have seen you.
Why?'
'I wanted to meet you,' he said, without looking around. 'I want to live for ever.' His voice cracked
as he said it.
He had stepped over the precipice. There was no going back. In his imagination, he could already
feel the prick of needle-sharp fangs in his neck, a sharp prelude to eternal life.
The sound began. It was low and sad, like the rushing of an underground river. It took him several
long seconds to recognise it as laughter.
'This is not life,' said the voice.
It said nothing more, and after a while the young man knew he was alone in the graveyard. ~ Neil Gaiman

On numerous visits to Manhattan, I have found myself poking around the city trying to find a moment of quiet and once located a hint of it in Central Park during a windless, late-night snowfall. There I stood absolutely still in the lemon glow of the city, a sky full of snow. The city still roared from all sides, a thousand noises compressed down to just one. I counted that distant, mild roar as quiet, a welcome relief from the more pressing noises of the daytime city. ~ Craig Childs

What is it that wells up so suddenly and menacingly under my heart, swallowing the soft air of melancholy? Are you pleased with us, dark night? What is it you conceal under your mantle, that grabs invisibly and powerfully at my soul? A rich balm drips off your fingers from a bundle of poppies. You raise up the heavy wings of the soul – darkly and inexpressibly we are moved. I see an earnest face startled with joy – softly and reverently it inclines toward me, and under endlessly entangled locks
appears the cherished face of our Mother. How poor and childish the light seems to me now − how welcome and
blessed is the day's departure. ~ Novalis

They stood on the porch
and were ready to knock,
when they heard heavy footsteps,
and a turn of the lock.

When what to their
curious eyes should loom,
but a wicked old witch
holding a broom.
Her cape--how it shimmered!
Her face--oh, how scary!
Her hat was so pointy,
it frightened the fairy!

The wicked witch said,
"Welcome. We have a surprise."
And the children yelled,
"Run! It's not a disguise!"

The monsters were sad
when the kids ran away.
They wanted the children
to come in and play.

The wicked witch said,
"We can have our own fun!
Come on, little monsters,
the night's just begun!"

The monsters all cheered
as they danced with delight,
"Happy Halloween to all--
and to all a fright night! ~ Natasha Wing

This somewhat surprised Dodger; no one had offered him a prayer before, as far as he could recall. The idea that he might have one was, on this chilly night, a welcome warmth. Cuddling that to his bosom, he led Onan up the longs stairs to bed. ~ Terry Pratchett

Jaenelle woke up in a similar mood," Lucivar said mildly. "Must have been an interesting night." "Nothing happened," Daemon growled as he swiped his hair back. "Nothing physical," Lucivar said. "But I've danced with the Sadist enough times to recognize him when I see him." Daemon just waited. Lucivar's lips curled into that lazy, arrogant smile. "Welcome to Kaeleer, brother," he said softly. "It's good to have you back." He paused at the bathroom door. "I'll bring you a cup of coffee. That and a hot shower ought to wake you up enough. ~ Anne Bishop

Welcome to where time stands still
No one leaves and no one will
Moon is full, never seems to change
Just labeled mentally deranged
Dream the same thing every night
I see our freedom in my sight
No locked doors, No windows barred
No things to make my brain seem scarred ~ Metallica Welcome Home Sanitarium

I thought of calling this piece "In Memoriam," because "in memoriam" has always suggested a place to me - Memoriam, Oklahoma, say, or Memoriam, Tennessee - and because, to my tinker's brain, "in memoriam," sounds like "in memory am." Which I am, now more than ever. Lost, basically, wandering that ancestral home, all polished wood and anecdote, wishing that I could unload it somehow, knowing I never will. Like it or not, I have an investment in Memoriam now. My father's casket between the potted palms is the cornerstone. Welcome home, kid.

It's an odd, slightly ghostly predicament. Lacking brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, with my mother's memory having long ago lost any trace of me, I find myself the sole surviving owner of ten thousand names, stories, jokes, associations - that time the raccoon reached up through the knothole in the cabin floor when I was four; those Friday nights when the three of us would watch "The Man from U.N.C.L.E."; that evening, a memorable night in 1966, when my dad, with his professorial air and his Czech accent and his horn-rims, put on my mother's shoulder-length blond wig on a dare and went out to pick up the pizza - that mean nothing, except that they were the soil of our lives. ~ Mark Slouka

Since Jeannie is a big believer in attachment parenting and I'm a spineless coward, we have instituted an open-door policy, meaning if one of our kids has a nightmare, they are welcome to come in our room and pee in our bed. Luckily this only happens every night. ~ Jim Gaffigan

You want to know about voting. I'm here to tell you about voting. Imagine you're locked in a huge underground night-club filled with sinners, whores, freaks and unnameable things that rape pitbulls for fun. And you ain't allowed out until you all vote on what you're going to do tonight. You like to put your feet up and watch "Republican Party Reservation". They like to have sex with normal people using knives, guns, and brand new sexual organs you did not even know existed. So you vote for television, and everyone else, as far as your eye can see, votes to fuck you with switchblades. That's voting. You're welcome. ~ Warren Ellis

The goddess will always smile,
For those in her light,
For she will show them love,
On many a given night.
Bathing in her beauty,
Seeing her heavenly glow,
As she surrounds her brethren,
On the land called Earth below.
Her brethren will rejoice,
When they feel her light,
As it travels through their body,
On those given nights.
So say,
Blessed Be!
And welcome her to thee,
For she will be with you always,
Our goddess,
Blessed Be! ~ Anthony T. Hincks

In spite of the incident, my experience in Kansas City was wonderful and I thank all the warm and supportive people, including so many veterans, who came to welcome me last night. ~ Jane Fonda

I thought I'd feel happy because there was only him and me, me with him. But I felt sad. That night, I came to a realization that even if I wanted to close the door on him, my own foot would still stop it from closing. And even if I did manage to close the door completely and he would come knocking years later, I would still welcome him and say, "I've been waiting for you. ~ Kia Amazona

In many interviews he had identified himself as a man outraged by death, but that was pretty much the same old big-balls crap he'd been selling throughout his career. He was terrified of death, that was the truth, and as a result of spending his life honing his imagination, he could see it coming from at least four dozen different directions... and late at night when he couldn't sleep, he was apt to see it coming from four dozen different directions at once. Refusing to see the doctor, to have a checkup and let them peek under the hood, would not cause any of those diseases to pause in their approach or their feeding upon him--if, indeed, the feeding had already begun--but if he stayed away from the doctors and their devilish machines, he wouldn't have to know. You didn't have to deal with the monster under the bed or lurking in the corner if you never actually turned on the bedroom lights, that was the thing. And what no doctor in the world seemed to know was that, for men like Johnny Marinville, fearing was sometimes better than finding. Especially when you'd put out the welcome mat for every disease going. ~ Stephen King

Hey…," I said as we climbed into bed one rainy night. "What if we just put the house on hold for a while?" I reached over to my bedside table, grabbed the lemon half, and took a big sniff. Lemon halves were my new narcotic.
Marlboro Man was quiet. He worked his leg under mine and locked it into what had become its official position. It was warm.
"I think maybe we should get to a stopping point," I said. "And just put it on hold for a while."
"I've thought about it," he answered quietly. He rubbed his leg slowly up and down mine.
Feeling better, I set the lemon back on the table and reached my arm toward him, rolling over and draping my other leg over his waist and resting my head on his chest. "Well, I was thinking it might be easier for me not to worry about it with my parents and the baby and everything else." Maybe it would be more effective, I thought, if I turned the focus on me.
"Well, that makes sense," he said. "But let's talk about it tomorrow." He wrapped his other arm around my waist, and within seconds we were in a totally different world, where parents and drywall--and crippling nausea--were no longer welcome. ~ Ree Drummond

The last person Jemma expected to welcome into her bedchamber that night was her husband. Though of course she would have to invite him in at some point if they were to embark on their heir-making activities. ~ Eloisa James

I pondered on this desert hospitality and, compared it with our own. I remembered other encampments where I had slept, small tents on which I had happened in the Syrian desert and where I had spent the night. Gaunt men in rags and hungry-looking children had greeted me, and bade me welcome with the sonorous phrases of the desert. Later they had set a great dish before me, rice heaped round a sheep which they had slaughtered, over which my host poured liquid golden butter until it flowed down on to the sand; and when I protested, saying 'Enough! Enough!', had answered that I was a hundred times welcome. Their lavish hospitality had always made me uncomfortable, for I had known that as a result of it they would go hungry for days. Yet when I left them they had almost convinced me that I had done them a kindness by staying with them ~ Wilfred Thesiger

Well, everyone, welcome to Shark Week. Oh that's on CBS and there's been a lot of cutbacks, so it's just Friday night for a couple of minutes. And we don't have any sharks, just an immigrant with a puppet. Hey, but it's a start! ~ Craig Ferguson

I am, I love – the stars at night, the beach sand between our toes, the gentle kiss of cool wind that brushes against your skin. The moon that beams light across the water. I am, I love – the welcome smile that greets you in the shyest way; eyes playful and filled with light. Oh the night. The colours which few truly notice. The beach, the beach – at night, I am, I love. The water that laps at the shores, kindred spirits dancing to the rhythmic waves and drumming carried from across the water. In my eyes a billions flecks of light, in your eyes the same constellations hold true. Alone to explore each other, together. Hushed, racing, slow, shy, bold, urgent, relaxed, and too long apart. And now, finally- the night sky, the beach, and you and I."

Excerpt from the upcoming book "The spark (of a muse)". By Cheri Bauer ~ Cheri Bauer

Mad, you must see me mad; your opinion is awash to me as long as I am crazed by love. I welcome this folly that you give to me with great estate. Thief? Rascal? I did what others did and what others had me do and we are all doomed, but I do not regret for one instant the coming of events of this most splendid night. You should have seen how carefully I proceeded and how I found love in the most dreadful of streets, during my most mourning of states and on the most propitious of nights. Play samartian to the fool, champion to the underdog. So to speak, I am a hubris acolyte of love. ~ Benarrioua Aniss

I die without seeing the dawn brighten over my native land. You who have it to see, welcome it ... and forget not those who have fallen during the night! ~ Jose Rizal

Our little time of suffering is not worthy of our first night's welcome home to Heaven. ~ Samuel Rutherford

The next morning, I went over to pick them up. I'd spent the night thinking of more things I should tell them--everything about Chris I thought they needed to know.
It was all too much.
"I don't know how to tell you everything," I confessed to Bradley as he got into the car. I started to cry. "There's so many things and we have such a short amount of time."
"Just being here is all we need," he said. "I'm not an impersonator. I'm just here to feel Chris's life--I feel him here with me right now."
Bradley put me at ease and I calmed down. Back at the house, he and Clint became almost like family. Little bits of their personality came out as well--and I saw a glimmer of Clint's famous Dirty Harry character later on in the day when I had to leave to go to Bubba's basketball game.
They'd talked about coming with me--which frankly would have created an impossible circus. But I did give them the option. As they stood trying to make up their minds, I snapped into anxious mom mode.
"All right," I told them both. "You're welcome to come. But if you're coming, we're leaving now."
I guess my tone was a little too strident.
"So you want to get tough with me, huh, lady?" said Clint in his best Dirty Harry voice as he raised his eyebrow.
It's amazing how threatening a simple facial tic can be.
I left them home to study some of Chris's replica guns and gear. Our own already had its ample share of lawmen. ~ Taya Kyle

What we do have is nothin' but time. Welcome to the Shawshank Redemption of late night! ~ Craig Ferguson

And too soon marr'd are those so early made.
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
An she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you, among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor house look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
When well-apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,
And like her most whose merit most shall be:
Which on more view, of many mine being one
May stand in number, though in reckoning none,
Come, go with me. ~ William Shakespeare

My locker seems to have become the hub for sticky notes and nasty letters, none of which I ever see actually being placed on or in my locker. I really don't get what people gain out of doing things like this if they don't even own up to it.
Like the note that was stuck to my locker this morning. All it said was, "
Whore."
Really? Where's the creativity in that? They couldn't back it up with an interesting story? Maybe a few details of my indiscretion? If I have to read this shit every day, the least they could do is make it interesting. If I was going to stoop so low as to leave an unfounded note on someone's locker,I'd at least have the courtesy of entertaining whoever reads it in the process. I'd write something interesting like, "I saw you in bed with my boyfriend last night. I really don't appreciate you getting massage oil on my cucumbers. Whore."
I laugh and it feels odd, laughing out loud at my own thoughts. I look around and no one is left in the hallway but me.
Rather than rip the sticky notes off of my locker like I probably should, I take out my pen and make them a little more creative. You're welcome, passersby. ~ Colleen Hoover

Father, I can beat him, he'd said, and
he'd ridden out and returned to a hero's
welcome, to have his armour stripped by
servants, to have his father greet him
with pride. He remembered that night,
all those nights, the galvanising power of
his father's expansionist victories, the
approbation, as success flowed from
success. He had not thought about the
way it had played out on the other side
of the field. When this game began, I
was younger. ~ C.S. Pacat

However, the struggle with that sentinel is, as a rule, not so hard as it may seem from a long way off, mainly in consequence of the antagonism between the ills of the body and the ills of the mind. If we are in great bodily pain, or the pain lasts a long time, we become indifferent to other troubles; all we think about is to get well. In the same way great mental suffering makes us insensible to bodily pain; we despise it; nay, if it should outweigh the other, it distracts our thoughts, and we welcome it as a pause in mental suffering. It is this feeling that makes suicide easy; for the bodily pain that accompanies it loses all significance in the eyes of one who is tortured by an excess of mental suffering. This is especially evident in the case of those who are driven to suicide by some purely morbid and exaggerated ill-humor. No special effort to overcome their feelings is necessary, nor do such people require to be worked up in order to take the step; but as soon as the keeper into whose charge they are given leaves them for a couple of minutes, they quickly bring their life to an end.
When, in some dreadful and ghastly dream, we reach the moment of greatest horror, it awakes us; thereby banishing all the hideous shapes that were born of the night. And life is a dream: when the moment of greatest horror compels us to break it off, the same thing happens. ~ Arthur Schopenhauer

It seems to me that if one could accept existence as it is, partake of it fully, the world could be magical. The cricket on my balcony at the moment piercing the night repeatedly with its hurried needle of sound, would be welcome merely because it is there, rather than an annoyance because it distracts me from what I am trying to do. ~ Paul Bowles

He bowed in a courtly way as he replied: I am Dracula. and I bid you welcome, Mr Harker, to my house. Come in; the night air is chill, and you must need to eat and rest. ~ Bram Stoker

I have graded my separate works from A to D. The grades I hand out to myself do not place me in literary history. I am comparing myself with myself. Thus can I give myself an A-plus for Cat's Cradle, while knowing that there was a writer named William Shakespeare. The report card is chronological, so you can plot my rise and fall on graph paper, if you like:
Player Piano B
The Sirens of Titan A
Mother Night A
Cat's Cradle A-plus
God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater A
Slaughterhouse-Five A-plus
Welcome to the Monkey House B-minus
Happy Birthday, Wanda June D
Breakfast of Champions C
Wampeters, Foma & Grandfalloons C
Slapstick D
Jailbird A
Palm Sunday C ~ Kurt Vonnegut

The castle is situated at the terminus of a long and upward-winding mountain road. It presents a somewhat forbidding aspect to the world, for there is little about it to suggest gaiety or warmth or any of those qualities that might assure a wayfarer of welcome. Rather, this vast edifice of stone exudes an austerity, cold and repellent, a hint of ancient mysteries long buried, an effluvium of medieval dankness and decay. At night, and most particularly on nights when the moon is slim or cloud-enshrouded, it is a heavy blot upon the horizon, a shadow only, without feature save for its many-turreted outline; and should the moon be temporarily released from her cloudy confinement, her fugitive rays lend scant comfort, for they but serve to throw the castle into sudden, startling chiaroscuro, its windows fleetingly assuming the appearance of sightless though all-seeing orbs, its portcullis becoming for an instant a gaping mouth, its entire form striking the physical and the mental eye as would the sight of a giant skull. ~ Ray Russell

He raised a hand in response and tossed the ear of corn into the wagon. Then he
returned to his fantasy, imagining himself running the livery instead of working there, making the decisions, placing orders, selecting new horses, agreeing to board others, and
hiring a boy to muck out the stalls and pitch hay.
In his daydream, he no longer lived in the back room. He came home at night to a small house he'd bought with his earnings. Inside, a woman waited for him. A wife. In his fantasy her hair was as golden as the ear of corn he tossed into the wagon and her
eyes as blue as the cloudless sky overhead. Catherine smiled at him and he could hear as well as see her say his name. "Jim! Welcome home. ~ Bonnie Dee

He parked his car carefully, made sure he'd set all the locks and the alarm. On the steps he kept looking behind him, snapping glances into shadows like he expected this to be a set-up with my gang waiting to roll him. Nervous. But I got this feeling the possibility of danger was all part of it for him. What he wanted was something with an edge to it, something stamped as unmistakable bad.

Welcome to the club, dude. ~ Matthew Stokoe

I try so hard, and it is still not working. I wear the same clothes as the others. I say the same words at the same times: good morning, hi, how are you, I'm fine, good night, please, thank you, you're welcome, no thank you, not right now. I obey the traffic laws; I obey the rules. I have ordinary furniture in my apartment, and I play my unusual music very softly or use headphones. But it is not enough. Even as hard as I try, the real people still want me to change, to be like them. ~ Elizabeth Moon

Dakota reclined glumly on his couch, mixing sugar into his drink and chugging it. He was a beefy guy with curly black hair and eyes that didn't quite line up straight, so Hazel felt like the world was leaning whenever she looked at him. It wasn't a good sign that he was drinking so much so early in the night. "So." He burped, waving his goblet. "Welcome to the Percy, party." He frowned. "Party, Percy. Whatever. ~ Rick Riordan

Once upon a time, I believe it was a Tuesday when I caught your eye, we got onto something, I hold on to the night. You looked me in the eye and told me you loved me. Were you just kidding, cuz it seems to me, this thing is breaking down we almost never speak. I don't feel welcome anymore. Baby what happened please tell me cuz one second is perfect now you're halfway out the door.
And I stood at the phone, you still haven't called. And you feel so below you, can't feel nothing at all. And I flashback to when he said forever & always. ~ Taylor Swift

Children are the only people who accept a mood of wonderment, who are ready to welcome a perfect miracle at any hour of the day or night. Only a child can entertain an angel unawares, or to meet Sir Launcelot in shining armor on a moonlit road. ~ Kenneth Grahame

Now it's serious. At last it's becoming serious. So I've grown older. Was I the only one who wasn't serious? Is it our times that are not serious? I was never lonely neither when I was alone, nor with others. But I would have liked to be alone at last. Loneliness means I'm finally whole. Now I can say it as tonight, I'm at last alone. I must put an end to coincidence. The new moon of decision. I don't know if there's destiny but there's a decision. Decide! We are now the times. Not only the whole town - the whole world is taking part in our decision. We two are now more than us two. We incarnate something. We're representing the people now. And the whole place is full of those who are dreaming the same dream. We are deciding everyone's game. I am ready. Now it's your turn. You hold the game in your hand. Now or never. You need me. You will need me. There's no greater story than ours, that of man and woman. It will be a story of giants... invisible... transposable... a story of new ancestors. Look. My eyes. They are the picture of necessity, of the future of everyone in the place. Last night I dreamt of a stranger... of my man. Only with him could I be alone, open up to him, wholly open, wholly for him. Welcome him wholly into me. Surround him with the labyrinth of shared happiness. I know... it's you. ~ Wim Wenders