A Quote by H. P. Lovecraft

And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished, for the small hours were rent with the screams of nightmare. — © H. P. Lovecraft
And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished, for the small hours were rent with the screams of nightmare.
Man screams from the depths of his soul; the whole era becomes a single, piercing shriek. Art also screams, into the deep darkness, screams for help, screams for the spirit. This is Expressionism.
Everyone just screams and screams and screams. I have accepted it as real now, but it still feels surreal.
Our lives are made in these small hours, these little wonders, these twists & turns of fate. Time falls away, but these small hours, these small hours still remain. All of my regret, will wash away somehow. But i can not forget, the way i feel right now.
It's hard to absorb and to allow all that attention and accolades for 'Rent' because the rest of the country doesn't know who we are. Once I walk out of the door of 'Rent,' and I'm on the subway, it doesn't matter. It's an exaggerated sense of fame.
What I miss from the States, I guess, is going to museums and to see small rock shows in small bars. We don't have that in Hong Kong. Unfortunately because the property market is so high, all rent is so expensive, they can't afford to have a rock music bar because those things don't make a lot of money, and they're paying a lot of rent.
The nightmare is you spend the rest of your life being funny at parties and then people say, 'Why didn't you do that when you were on television?'
We bought an apartment building and were going to live off the rent money. We rented to people who were on welfare and a lot of times they couldn't pay the rent. We wouldn't throw them out so we lost the building.
It is a view of God that compensates every thing else, and enables the soul to rest in His bosom. How, when the child in the night screams with terror, hearing sounds that it knows not of, is that child comforted and put to rest? Is it by a philosophical explanation that the sounds were made by the rats in the partition? Is it by imparting entomological knowledge? No; it is by the mother taking the child in her lap, and singing sweetly to it, and rocking it. And the child thinks nothing of the explanation, but only of the mother.
President Trump needs to listen to the screams of the children and the screams of this nation.
My Nafs screams out for what it desires. But my will to be free screams louder.
I'm quite certain that if the rest of the world vanished overnight and the development of cricket were left in Australian hands, within a generation, the players would be wearing shorts and using the bats to hit each other, and the thing is, it'd be a much better game for it.
During their college years the oarsmen put in terrbily long hours, often showing up at the boathouse at 6:00am for preclass practices. Both physically and psychologically, they were separated from their classmates. Events that seemed earth-shattering to them-- for example, who was demoted from the varsity to the junior varsity -- went almost unnoticed by the rest of the students. In many ways they were like combat veterans coming back from a small, bitter and distant war, able to talk only to other veterans.
We would rent this old van and drive anywhere we could get in 10-to-12 hours. We scraped by with little money, but there's a lot to be said for those days. We were naive, but there was no pressure and a lot of freedom.
On the night of Brexit, while some people were celebrating and others were having wakes, I stayed in and played Beethoven, his quartets mainly, into the small hours of the morning.
Nyarlathotep . . . the crawling chaos . . . I am the last . . . I will tell the audient void. . . .
I think there has been a long-running notion in the West that Asia was a continent of people that were really conquerable. That people from Asia were weak, they were small in all ways - including physically small, geopolitically small, economically small - all of which are changing, of course.
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