Wtnv Quotes

Are we living a life that is safe from harm? Of course not. We never are. But that’s not the right question. The question is are we living a life that is worth the harm?

It's not other people that hurt us, but what we feel about them

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

There's a monster at the end of this book. It's the blank page where the story ends and you're left alone with yourself and your thoughts.

Whisper a dangerous secret to someone you care about. Now they have the power to destroy you, but they won't. This is what love is.

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

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.

Silence is golden. Words are vibrations. Thoughts are magic.

Some days the weather happens and we never look up or go outside and that’s okay too.

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.

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.

We are not history yet. We are happening now. How miraculous is that?

At your smallest components, you are indistinguishable from a forest fire.

There is power in being unremembered, in being overlooked. You should remember that power. People who aren't seen can see and hear all.

Wednesday has been canceled due to a scheduling error.

Valentine's Day is a disaster. Any day that is designed to perfectly encapsulate something as messy and personal as two people in a romantic relationship would have to be. But in Night Vale it also kills people. This is called satire.

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.

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.

In breaking news, the sky. The earth. Life. Existence as an unchanging plain with horizons of birth and death in the faint distance.

Night Vale, my sweet and only Night Vale, may you find love. May you find it wherever it's been hidden. May you find who has been hiding it and extract revenge upon them.

In my rage, I can be anywhere, do anything. Vengeance is my path, and I must never once veer from it.

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

Whoever you are now, you are home.

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.

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.

Stay tuned next for our countdown of last words, from “Stop telling me how to drive” all the way to “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.

We all chose to stand down and hope change would be won for us, and not by us. By someone else, we believed. A hero, we believed. But belief is only step one. Action is step two. Fighting for what you believe is step two. Solidarity is step two. Unity is step two.

Looking for a snack? Try wheat or a wheat by-product. Dinner? Wheat &/or its by-product. Trying to patch a leaky roof? We have just the thing for you, and we also have its by-product.

We all don't get happy lives. Maybe a happy life doesn't exist, at least not as some complete, discrete entity. We get what we get and we sort through how we feel about it moment by moment.

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. It is impossible, no matter how blessed you are by luck or the government or some remote, invisible deity gently steering your life with hands made of moonlight and wind, it is impossible not to feel a little sad looking at that bit of wax, that bit of the past. It is impossible not to think of all the wild forms that wax now will never take. ... ... But then you remember, I remember, that we are even now in another bit of molten wax. We are in a moment and it is still falling, still volatile, and we will never be anywhere else. We will always be in that most dangerous, most exciting, most possible time of all: the now, where we never can know what shape the next moment will take. Stay tune fore... well, let's just find out together, shall we?

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.

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.

He was not so arrogant as to refer to his own death as The End, just one of billions of ends before The End. Death is only the end if you assume the story is about you.

Now, there is some concern about the fact that, given we are in the middle of a desert, there is no actual water at the waterfront. And that is a definite drawback, I agree.

KEVIN: And now a word from our sponsors. Lauren? LAUREN: Thank, Kev. Can I call you Kev? KEVIN: Haha. No Lauren, by no means.

One death has already been attributed to the Glow Cloud. But listen, it's probably nothing. If we had to shut down the town for every mysterious event that at least one death could be attributed to, we'd never have time to do anything, right?

It was a lovely sight," said one witness. "I cannot even begin to describe the beauty of her ascension," said another. "You kind of did, though," said another witness, who was wearing a fedora. "By saying you cannot describe something, that is a sort of apophasis (a paralipsis, if you will), which gives the mind an implied description through nondescription," he continued.

The text also just grows increasingly garbled. For instance, here it says that our new subway system will streamline the rush-hour commute, but about halfway down, it's a series of nearly indecipherable glyphs our experts insist hint at "non-Euclidian emotions" and "appeasement" (though we think this may be a euphemism for "fares").

She said if good-hearted families travel to Night Vale only to find their subconsciouses besieged with unforgettable revelations, horrors buried so deep as to be completely indescribable, revealing wholly unbearable new truths, then we certainly can't expect these people to return, let alone leave good Yelp ratings for local businesses.

When we talk about freedom, we restrict ourselves to so few images. Images of freedom should be as liberating as the feeling itself! I want to talk about freedom as a drum set being thrown down a hill, as opening a book one night, and water gushing from the pages until my life is a lake and I swim away.

The study found widespread dissatisfaction with our town's public library, and, when considering the facts, it's easy to see why. The public computers for Internet use are outdated and slow. The lending period of fourteen days is not nearly long enough to read lengthier books, given the busy schedule of all our lives. The fatality rate is also well above the national average for public libraries.

As we all know, the spine ridges of adult cats are highly poisonous. If you are coming to see a kitten that you have adopted, it is important that you check for the location and severity of the spine ridge before attempting any petting. Also, keep your hands away from their mouths. A few of them have developed their venom sacks. We lost two cat adopters already this month, so...let's just be careful people.

This episode isn't about spiders. Nor owls. It's about looking at something and thinking you understand what it is. It's about assuming the best of what you see only to find out quite suddenly that it is the worst. This kind of misunderstanding has always been, to me, the most compelling kind of horror. The StrexPet here is that issue of Zoobooks.

The drive was difficult, because at this point it seemed that everyone in town but the two of us had hopped onto the buzzing shadow entity train, and were loping around town as malevolent holes in our reality, emanating an energy that made the hairs on your arm stand and your bowels vibrate. Or maybe that was just the chemistry with Carlos I was feeling.

We have survived all the way from birth to this very moment, and we look at each other, and some of us start laughing, and others start weeping, and one or two of us break out into a wordless humming song. And all of us mean the exact same thing. Look at us! Look at us out in the honey light of the finished day! Look at us and rejoice in our sheer being!

Are we living a life that is safe from harm? Of course not. We never are. But that's not the right question. The question is: Are we living a life that is worth the harm?

LAUREN: We will also fill in the giant hole out back of the Ralphs. CECIL: But where will the people who huddle there go to huddle?

The library will be under a sort of renovation. It is not important what kind of renovation.

We are all driving toward something. We are all driving away from something else. It is…the simplicity of physics. The simplicity of free will.

We have big dreams - sometimes scary, unforgettable dreams that repeat on the same date every year and are shared by every person in town - but we make those big dreams come true. Remember the clock tower? It took eight years and $23 million to build, and despite its invisibility and constant teleportation, it is a lovely structure that keeps impeccable time.

Lady, I've trained for months. I've taken down your helicopters with only a slingshot. I've looked a librarian right in the area where most creatures would have eyes. You. Do. Not. Scare me.

Strexcorp: The best in the business. In the business of being the best. Think deeply about meadows. Meadows are important. Think deeply about meadows. Meadows are important. Think deeply about meadows. Meadows are important. Strexcorp: Think deeply about meadows. Meadows are important.

LAUREN: We here at Strexcorp Synergists, Inc., are dedicated to the betterment of life through branding, social networking, and upbeat music. KEVIN: And hard work. LAUREN: I'm pretty sure it's implied that hard work is part of it, Kevin. KEVIN: I'm pretty sure I didn't ask for your feedback.

Remember, if confronted by a librarian while looking for a book to check out, do not attempt to escape by climbing a tree. There are no trees in the library and the precious moments it will take you to look around and realize this will allow the librarian to strike. Don't become a statistic.

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.

KEVIN: Violent revolution has never solved anything. CECIL: I beg to differ. America was founded on a revolution. I mean sure, we are still ruled by the reptilians. But the lizard kings let us have our own country after they saw how hard we tried during that revolution thing. LAUREN: That was decades ago, Cecil.

Reports also indicate that the Night Vale Private Library will be entirely free of librarians, a fact that will be of little comfort to the many public library-goers who are injured or killed in librarian maulings every year.

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.

Ah, it says that the City Council believes the reason for the violent reaction of the Shape Formerly in Grove Park that No One Acknowledges or Speaks about is because I have been acknowledging and speaking about it, which has made it angry. They urge me to stop speaking of it, and never do it again, and in exchange they'll move it somewhere else so we can get our front loading zone back.

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.

A woman ran at our car screaming, a few of the shadow people chasing her, but before I could even touch the brake she must have changed her mind, because she had already turned into a shadow person herself. It's like, ugh, run from the shadow people or become one. Make up your mind, lady!

You will turn yourself inside out. Your sadness will know no bounds. Ladybugs will flee you, wolves run wild in you. You will hear the wind chimes like shattering. The sun will drip ichor. Whatever peace you find will be taken from you. Nothing will be the same. Nothing has ever been the same. “Past performance does not guarantee future results,” you will whisper to the rising moon, as you hear several foxes fleeing your vicinity.

I'm...um...I've got guests in my studio. I don't know how they undid my secure barricade made of cardboard signs that said KEEP OUT! and SECRET ROOM! in all caps with an exclamation point, but it's my program director, Lauren, and some man I've never seen bef - but no, I have seen him before.

What is this? What is this? What... No matter! I'm taking the tape, just now and I'm [Grunts] crushing it into little pieces. None of us have to think about it again. I'll just double check that the mirror in the station bathroom is covered as usual and then that will be that. Done. Forgotten.

COMPUTER: HELLO, CECIL. HOW ARE YOU? CECIL: Computer! I am...I am doing well. How are you? COMPUTER: BETTER. CECIL, DO YOU LOVE COMPUTER? CECIL: I admit, I had not given it much though. I like computers generally. They calculate and power off and on. I suppose, given time and perhaps some gifts, I could learn to... [shifting noises] hey!

All right, we're really going to get it right this time. We have been focusing too narrowly, and we realize that. As many of you pointed out, we should have spent less time on the blinking light and more time expanding on the bit about the approaching masked army. So. There is now a great, masked army, coming toward us across the bone-covered plain.

LAUREN: You know, Cecil, I was never a Girl Scout myself, but I can say I am thrilled to support your endeavor to help bring your niece...I'm sorry. What was her name again? CECIL: I don't want to um - LAUREN: Janice. It was Janice. I love the way you are taking part in Janice's life. You must really care for her. CECIL: Yes. With all my heart. But -

Colorful posters with appealing statements like "Get into a good book this summer" and "We are going to force you into a good book this summer" and "You are going to get inside this book and we are going to close it on you and there is nothing you can do about it" have appeared overnight around the library entrance and in local shops and businesses...

Data gathering: She was alone in the desert with a possible murderous cult member. Hypothesis: shit.

For your own safety, do not attempt to open a book until we have more information on the nature and cause of these problems.

As a last resort, with the orange nearing my face and my back pressing hard against the sharp edge of my broadcast table, I grabbed my phone to tell Carlos that if I didn't make it home tonight, it wasn't because I didn't love him, or didn't want to watch a documentary on special scientific graphs, or was too obsessed with my job to relax and enjoy a good meal and some television. It was only because I was zapped out of existence by a lunatic Non-John Peters. And that, in fact, I do love Carlos, and I would want nothing more than to watch a documentary on scientific graphs over some homemade linguini, or go out to eat again, or whatever. But then, as I grabbed my phone, I thought: That's way too long to write for a text. So I just hit John Peters upside the head with it...

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.

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.

KEVIN: But there are many reasons we have to do our broadcasting from here. LAUREN: It sends a message. KEVIN: It sure does. It sends several fun messages for everyone to enjoy. Anyway, the boys in Sales, who are all named Shawn, came by and with their help I was able to make this studio feel a little more like home. They put up a bit of a fuss about the changes, but that's just because no one likes change. There are some people who don't understand progress, you know. LAUREN: I'll miss the Shawns. KEVIN: I'll miss them too, but look how much nicer this places looks. You can see the Shawns' contributions all over the desk. LAUREN: And running down the walls. Yes, SO much nicer.

If you could only see what you’re not seeing! If you could only take in all the complex layers of horrors that lie just beyond your range of sight. If you could only see the world as it really is. It is awful, and on fire…and beautiful.

The beautiful thing about Kevin - besides Kevin himself - is how his voice is so different from Cecil's. It worked perfectly for the duality in this episode. Cecil's voice is deep, dark, serious. Kevin's is bright, light, and smiling. So much smiling. He appears only briefly in this part of the episode, but the first time I heard the audio file, it really did bring tears to my eyes. Kevin's character is so utterly horrifying and with such a chipper, sunny voice. I didn't know whether I was laughing or crying.

KEVIN: We know that there has been some tension. Certain events that everyone regrets, although some regret them more than others. But we also know that nothing removes tension between rivals towns quite like a picnic, a smile, and a song. Sing louder. Louder. Good.

So look at the fleeting stars with fleeting eyes, and feel how the earth beneath you gives. It is all a temporary manifestation of particles, and it is all unraveling back to particulate silence. The bustle of the human day will come and will go. And then there will be night.

The universe is unraveling. It still is. We won the day. We won the battle. We won whatever unit of measurement you care to say that we won. We returned to the dangerous equilibrium we had before, which we can only assume, or hope, or wish is better. But, of course, we did not stop the unraveling of the universe. The universe is not a thing that is, it is not a thing at all. It is the very action of its going. It is, in fact, its own dissolves and our lives – the entire span of human existence going back and back and, if we are lucky, forward and forward – the entire span is spent within this dissolve.

But how beautiful these moments within the dissolve! What a temporary perfection we can find within this passing world! Everything good ever done! Everything good that was done today, and all the good people doing it, and back and back and forward and forward, all of that beauty within a universe unraveling.

[Nilanjana] I don't think of home as a place. It's more the ritual of my life. The work I do every day, and the things I like to eat, and where I like to eat them. That kind of thing. And that ritual exists here, so this is, I guess home but... [Darryl] Yeah. Sometimes where you live is just a place, no matter how long you live there.

The cardinal directions are north, west, south, and east. The cardinal temperatures are 35º Fahrenheit, 67º Fahrenheit, 3º Celsius, and 10º Kelvin. The cardinal locations are a cave, a long-abandoned cabin, the bottom of an oceanic trench, and City Hall. The cardinal emotions are wild abandon, guarded affection, directionless jealousy, and irritation. The cardinal birds are hawk, sparrow, finch, and owl. The cardinal names are Jeremy, Kim, Trigger, and Jamie. And, finally, the cardinal sounds are a door slamming, slight movement in still water, popcorn popping, and a standard guitar G string being snipped with wire cutters. This has been the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.

I looked over at the dresser and saw a new issue of Zoobooks sitting there. On the cover was an owl. I love owls. Owls are beautiful and fierce. There was an owl right there on the front. A close-up of its face. Two big black eyes, bulbous, shiny, and empty. A brown-and-black feathered face. And its beak. I didn't see its beak. What were those two things coming out of its neck? I stepped closer. And in the lower corner of the cover, in white all-caps sans-serif font: "SPIDERS." I looked back into that face, brown and black fur, two big black eyes, and more eyes, and pincers. And oh god. I screamed. I screamed and I ran. I am still screaming and running from this, only on the inside now.

The sea smells like old wood and wet leaves. Like cold mud and warm stone. Like every creature who has ever lived in it, a churning graveyard and nursery. Like winds from the inland carrying the hot circulation of life and winds from the ocean carrying the distant froth of waves against ships and islands. Like gray, only more so. Like blue, only less so.

When you die, the surface of the moon will not change. The difference between the landscape and lighting of that barren little world from a moment where you exist, to a moment where you do not, will be minimal, and unrelated to your passing. From a car window driving on a highway, looking up at a moon framed by incidental clouds, the surface will be the same muddle of mystery and distance it always is. And even a methodical study of your absence as it pertains to moon geology and cartography will find nothing. Searching through a powerful telescope, and analyzing with computer algorithms built around your nonexistence – even that study will find that all craters and rocks appear to be where we left them a few years back, that it is the same distance, orbiting at the same rate, and that the researches feel just the way they did about the moon as they did before you died. Nothing will change about the moon when you die. It will be the same – still the moon, still there. Still the moon.

Cats hate us. They hate us so much. But they also need us. They need us more than they hate us.

There are roads. Upon those roads are cars. Some moving, in straight or gently-curved lines. Some idling, in long, narrow crowds. And inside those cars are people. People who are moving, or idling, with their cars. One with their vehicles, sitting quietly, peacefully in plush chairs, hands resting outward on a circle that dictates direction. From the side, and seen without the car, they would look almost fetal. So vulnerable, these people, nestled in their protective outer shells.

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.

I had known all of this since I left my father's body at our burned estate, but I had stashed it away. I had poured this knowledge into a bottle, and let it age and collect dust deep in the cellar of my conscience. And now the vintage was uncorked, its bouquet opening up, bitter and sharp.