Azathoth Quotes

Even Azathoth is bored of this tune.

Of the name and abode of this man but little is written, for they were of the waking world only; yet it is said that both were obscure. It is enough to know that he dwelt in a city of high walls where sterile twilight reigned, and that he toiled all day among shadow and turmoil, coming home at evening to a room whose one window opened not on the fields and groves but on a dim court where other windows stared in dull despair. —"Azathoth" from Dagon and Other Macabre Tales

And because mere walls and windows must soon drive to madness a man who dreams and reads much, the dweller in that room used night after night to lean out and peer aloft to glimpse some fragment of things beyond the waking world and the greyness of tall cities. After years he began to call the slow-sailing stars by name, and to follow them in fancy when they glided regretfully out of sight; till at length his vision opened to many secret vistas whose existence no common eye suspects. And one night a mighty gulf was bridged, and the dream-haunted skies swelled down to the lonely watcher's window to merge with the close air of his room and make him a part of their fabulous wonder.

If Yog Sothoth is Wheeler's quantum foam, or even a ghastly santorum froth of excrement and blood, of semen and petrochemicals, it is still only a nothing defined by a something; with Azathoth as the potential for the foam, the logos of it.

And because mere walls and windows must soon drive to madness a man who dreams and reads much, the dweller in that room used night after night to lean out and peer aloft to glimpse some fragment of things beyond the waking world and the greyness of tall cities.

There were, in such voyages, incalculable local dangers; as well as that shocking final peril which gibbers unmentionably outside the ordered universe, where no dreams reach; that last amorphous blight of nethermost confusion which blasphemes and bubbles at the centre of all infinity—the boundless daemon-sultan Azathoth, whose name no lips dare speak aloud, and who gnaws hungrily in inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond time amidst the muffled, maddening beating of vile drums and the thin, monotonous whine of accursed flutes; to which detestable pounding and piping dance slowly, awkwardly, and absurdly the gigantic ultimate gods, the blind, voiceless, tenebrous, mindless Other Gods whose soul and messenger is the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep.

yo nunca voy a dormir tranquilo de nuevo cuando piense en los horrores que acechan sin cesar detrás de la vida, en el tiempo y en el espacio, y en esas blasfemias impías de los Antiguos estelares que sueñan bajo el mar, conocidos y favorecidos por un culto de pesadilla, listo y deseoso de lanzarse sobre el mundo cuando un nuevo terremoto saque su monstruosa ciudad de piedra de nuevo al sol y el aire.

Freeman looked up and grinned. “Karl, this author is American and plainly loves twisted language. Listen: ‘The idiot god Azathoth, that last amorphous blight of nethermost confusion which blasphemes and bubbles at the center of all infinity.’ Superb nonsense.” Karl snorted. “Why are you reading such stuff?” “It’s a novel of horror. Seems appropriate in a war, somehow.” Karl

No, brother. Your brethren will not come for me. I will come for them. I will kill them all. Every one. Know too that Azathoth did not abandon you, brother. He is gone from the world for one reason and one reason only; because I killed him and cut out his black heart.

Azathoth tended to hire his thugs a certain way: big, dumb, stupid, and okay with the insanity of an ever-expanding indifferent void where everything will end in a cold, lonely death.

Azathoth, father to us all, teaches us that each man is of equal value to all others and entitled to the same benefits, and happiness, and respect.” “We are all equal and deserving,” chanted the multitude in near unison. “But equality eludes us, not through our faults, but through the faults of others—those of the disbelievers, the sinners, the hypocrites, and the hoarders of wealth. I say to you, why should some loathsome nobleman or disbelieving, fatted merchant be permitted to lounge in a grand manor house while you starve in a hovel or sleep in a ruin on the cold hard ground? Should he not share his home and table with you and yours, as would your brother or your father?