Welcome to Night Vale Quotes

Fear is a reasonable response to life.

Remember that misuse of language can lead to miscommunication, and that miscommunication leads to everything that has ever happened in the whole of the world.

People are beautiful when they do beautiful things.

Comfort was the answer to all life's problems. It didn't solve them, but it made them more distant for a bit as they quietly worsened.

Often it takes us to that most dangerous place: the library. You know who said that? No? George Washington did. Minutes before librarians ate him.

She was angry, which is the more productive cousin of fear.

She left the shower as most people leave showers, clean and a little lonely.

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?.

There is nothing more lonely than an action taken quietly on your own, and nothing more comforting than doing that same quiet action in parallel with fellow humans doing the same action, everyone alone next to each other.

Librarians are hideous creatures of unimaginable power. And even if you could imagine their power, it would be illegal. It is absolutely illegal to even try to picture what such a being would be like.

Sleep is confusing. Dreams are baffling. The concept of transitioning from one perceived reality to another is a tolerated madness.

People who grow older think they are so wise, she thought. Like time means anything at all.

She was not shy, but maybe lazy socially. Not willing to seek out situations and connections that were not already part of her routine.

In terms of tacos, she was doing fine.

and pretending we don’t so that every one of us thinks we are alone.

Sometimes it is easy to forget which things in the world can feel pain and which cannot.

there’s no sense in going through life presuming awful things about people you do not know.

To be remembered is, I think, a basic human right. Not one that occurs to a person when it is there, but like a parched throat in a desert when it is gone.

But babies become children, and they go to elementary schools that indoctrinate them on how to overthrow governments, and they get interested in boys and girls, or they don't, and anyway they change.

She didn’t have a good reason for most of what she did. Mostly, she went by what seemed right in the moment, and justified it to herself later, and in this way she was no different than anyone else she knew.

It was a simpler time. Because I personally had less memories and so less to superimpose upon the world, and so it was much clearer, and also I was younger. Thus, the world was simpler.

It would be safe to assume that the house is an enclosed structure owned and built by people. It would be weird to assume that the house has a personality, a soul. Why would anyone assume that? It is true. It does. But that was weird to assume that. Never assume that kind of thing.

We’ve all been there.

We live in a pattern that we'll never detect, and that will shuffle us through invisible hierarchies to the actual death of us.

Clocks and calendars don’t work in Night Vale. Time itself doesn’t work.

We own all of these bodies and we will not hesitate to use them to create great flesh barricades if that is what it takes to prevent our children from learning.

Her body no longer felt young. All of her energy had been robbed from her. She felt old, looked young, was neither.

You, of course, should always chant when you wash your hands. It is only hygienic.

Troy and I loved each other. We called it 'unconditional love', which was true. Once conditions arose, the love dissipated.

You believe in mountains, right? Not everyone does.

Some people prefer to make their homes so neat that there is no evidence of life anywhere at all.

One day we will destroy the moon with indifference!.

Of course, angels do not exist. It is illegal to consider their existence, or even to give them a dollar when they forget bus money and start hovering around the Ralphs asking for change.

This is Night Vale. Our mayor once led an army of masked warriors from another dimension through magic doors to defeat an army of smiling blood-covered office workers. There is definitely, definitely another way.

If we cannot be judged on our actions, then we cannot be judged.

The reading area was a beautifully crafted trap set by the librarians, but it was too perfect. Even the dumbest book lover—and anyone who would regularly choose to come in contact with books could not be a bright bulb, Jackie thought—wouldn’t fall for this.

but what are people but deaths that haven’t happened yet?.

Everything I do is for a reason. And I don't know what that reason is. Everything I do is for a reason, and I know none of them. Everything makes sense, and the sense is hidden from me.

Most people in Night Vale get by with a cobbled-together framework of lies and assumptions and conspiracy theories.

Not everybody gets to be friends with everybody.

All this time he had lived for the future. The future had been the firm ground he stood on, and the present was only the slight haze in the air. But now he understood that the future was a joke without a punch line and that whatever he had in the present was what he would always have. He did not have much in the present.

She loved him the way one loves an old bridge or a wool sweater or the sound of a growing tulip.

The tarantula stared at the ceiling not knowing at all what a ceiling is.

Imagine a fifteen-year-old boy. Nope. That was not right at all. Try again.

Diane was gasping and slowing, cursing years of intended workouts that had never happened.

Nothing there but a distant airplane crawling across the sky, red blinking lights, vulnerable in the vast empty, faint red beacons flashing the message HELLO. A SMALL ISLAND OF LIFE UP HERE, VERY CLOSE TO SPACE. PRAY FOR US. PRAY FOR US.

There are a lot of things we don’t understand about orange juice, the house thought.

Josie produced a glass of water, through practiced manipulation of cupboards and valves and municipal plumbing. Neither she nor Jackie was impressed with the human miracle represented by how easily the glass of water was produced.

Wednesday is Smell Like a Pirate Day. Everyone in town is encouraged to get in on the wacky fun by not bathing for weeks and rubbing yourself with ash and blood.

Finally, most identity thefts occur when databases are not securely managed. So, my advice? Don’t ever end up in a database.

Then you will die, but only for a little while.

Get out to Lenny’s for their big grand opening sale. Find eight government secrets and get a free kidnapping and personality reassignment so that you’ll forget you found them!.

I guess we all thought that once.

It’s not easy raising a child in Night Vale. Things go strange often. There are literal monsters here. Most towns don’t have literal monsters, I think, but we do.

The City Council ended the conference by devouring a raw potato in quick, small bites of their sharp teeth and rough tongues. No follow-up questions were asked, although there were a few follow-up screams.

you will find yourself on your hands and knees, the warm water running over you, and you will know where the pawnshop is. You will smell must and soap, and feel a stab of panic about how alone you are. It will be like most showers you’ve taken.

Not all windowless vans have residential surveillance equipment.

when Cecil talked it was possible to let some of that go. To let go of the worries. To let go of the questions. To let go of letting or going.

Most people in Night Vale get by with a cobbled-together framework of lies and assumptions and conspiracy theories. Diane was like most people. Most people are.

Diane suddenly felt like the words she was saying were twisting in her mouth and coming out as different words altogether.

You were my baby. But babies become children, and they go to elementary schools that indoctrinate them on how to overthrow governments, and they get interested in boys and girls, or they don’t, and anyway they change. They go to high schools, where they learn dangerous things. They grow into adults, and become dangerous things.

Dear, be kind to the mothers of Night Vale. Have pity on us. It’ll be no easier for Diane. Things go strange here. Your children forget you, and the courses of their lives get frozen. Or they change shapes every day, and they think that just because they look completely different you won’t be able to recognize them. But you always will. You always know your child, even when your child doesn’t know you.

If you like a thing, and only one place in town serves that thing, you’re going to be pretty excited by that thing, regardless of quality.

The desert seems vast, even endless. And yet scientists tell us that somewhere, even now, there is snow.

All information was important information, even if the reasons were not immediately apparent.

Here is what we know about sentience. Sand is sentient. The desert is sentient. The sky is not sentient. Plants are intermittently sentient. Dogs are the most sentient. We are not sentient. The planet as a whole is sentient. The parts that make up that whole are not sentient. Holes are sentient. We are not sentient. Gift cards are sentient until they expire. States in which it is illegal for gift cards to expire have created immortal sentience. Money is not sentient. The concept of private property is sentient. Sand is sentient. The desert is sentient. We are not sentient.

Imagine teaching a fifteen-year-old how to drive a car with manual transmission. First, you have to press down the clutch. Then you have to whisper a secret into one of the cup holders.

Who can fathom the danger and pain of a visit to the City Council?.

Often it takes us to that most dangerous place: the library. You know who said that? No? George Washington did. Minutes before librarians ate him.

Look, life is stressful. This is true everywhere. But life in Night Vale is more stressful. There are things lurking in the shadows. Not the projections of a worried mind, but literal Things, lurking, literally, in shadows. Conspiracies are hidden in every storefront, under every street, and floating in helicopters above. And with all that there is still the bland tragedy of life. Births, deaths, comings, goings, the gulf of subjectivity and bravado between us and everyone we care about. All is sorrow, as a man once said without really doing much about it.