“History is us squinting into the past, mistaking millions of tiny vibrations in all directions for unified, unidirectional movements by entire civilizations.”

“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.”

“Jackie's eyes burned. She wasn't sure if it was an allergic reaction. She couldn't remember ever feeling this sensation. She touched the corner of her eye. It was wet. There was water coming from her eyes and trickling down her cheeks, and she knew she was crying but she wasn't sure if she had ever cried before.”

“Such are the foolish dreams of idealistic children who believe that anything can possibly get better over time.”

“...their relationship was a point of near-constant discussion in Night Vale, all of their imperfections and faults, which made them individuals worth loving. They had built those faults into the usual messy, comfortable, patched-up, beautiful structure that any functioning long-term relationship ended up being.”

“[Mayor Dana] I don't know a lot of things. I do know there will always be problems for Night Vale. There are so many. Usually they pass. Often they kill many people, but what are people but deaths that haven't happened yet? [Jackie] Births that already happened?”

“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”

“Jackie.''Mm.''Thank you for keeping me company in my nightmare.'Jackie grinned at her,'Nah, it's our nightmare now.”

“Desperation does not breed empathy or clear thinking.”

“Taking a shower often solved problems for her. She would find herself with thoughts that seemed to come from outside her, thoughts that would question decisions or offer suggestions or just consider life hazily in a way that made it seem like the thoughts could not possibly be her own.”

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