Old woman Josie has not called, but Intern Dana said that Josie updated her facebook page with an instagram of some runestones. Dana has been furiously translating these symbols, and her best guess is that they say: They come in twos. You come in twos. You, and you. KILL YOUR DOUBLE. There's also a link to this amazing cat that keeps jumping in and out of boxes and oh my god that is the CUTEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN. Dana, you have got to post that on my wall. Oh my god, he loves those boxes so much!
A new man came into town today. Who is he? What does he want from us? Why his perfect and beautiful haircut? Why his perfect and beautiful coat?
Carlos told us that we were by far the most scientifically interesting community in the U.S. and he had come to study just what was going on around here. He grinned and everything about him was perfect, and I fell in love instantly.
— "Episode 1, Cecil's first impressions of Carlos"
Local historians are protesting the removal of the Shape in Grove Park that no one acknowledges or speaks about. While their protest has been hampered by the fact that none of them will acknowledge or speak about it, they did, through a system of gestures and grimaces, convey the message that, whatever the Shape is, and whatever its effects on neighborhoods, it is a Night Vale landmark and should be protected. The Shape itself offered no comment, only a low moaning gelatinous quiver.
— "Episode 5"
We lead frantic lives. Filled with needs and responsibilities, but completely devoid of any actual purpose. I say let's try to enjoy the simple things. Life should be like a basket of chicken wings: salty, full of fat and vinegar, and surrounded by celery you'll never actually eat, even when you're greedily sopping up the last viscous streaks of buffalo sauce from the wax paper with your spit-stained index finger. Yes, that is as life should be, Night Vale.
— "Episode 8"
Audible.com: "You can't burn what you can't even touch."
— "Episode 9"
Sleep heavily and know that I am here with you now. The past is gone, and cannot harm you anymore. And while the future is fast coming for you, it always flinches first, and settles in as the gentle present. This now, this us, we can cope with that. We can do this together, you and I. Drowsily, but comfortably.
— "Episode 12"
Trish Hidge, from the mayor’s office, called a press conference today in which she stood in front of a large truck, painted in bright neon colors and decorated with flashing lights, and resolutely denied the truck’s existence. She continued this denial for several minutes, and through a lengthy round of questioning from the gathered reporters, although it should be noted that many of the questions took the form of just pointing at the truck and raising an eyebrow. Ms Hidge admitted afterwards that the conference was simply a workout for her denial skills, which she says she must keep sharp through constant practice, and which she also says do not exist.
— "Episode 21"
Proponents of the bill [criminalizing murder] argued that most things in Night Vale are already illegal anyway, so citizens would hardly even notice the change. The law goes into effect in two weeks, and citizens are advised to get any necessary murders done before then — although there will be a three-day grace period after the deadline, for those who are forgetful, or whose victims are hard to catch.
— "Episode 28"
And yes, you will die – but probably not until everyone you know is already dead, too. Your parents, your friends, your pets...each death leaving a small but irreparable scar on your not-yet-still, still-beating heart. The living tell the dying not to leave, and the dying do not listen. The dying tell us not to be sad for them, and we do not listen. The dialogue between the living and the dead is full of misunderstanding and silence.
— "Episode 37"
I-I kicked it... and I kicked it again. Then, Jeremy helped me pin it down and animal control tried to sedate it and I wanted to... beat it to death... with a hammer. But, I had no hammer. I only had self control.
— "Episode 43"
The bartender left the bar. Presumably he opened the door. Presumably he got into a car. Presumably he drove home, the radio on and playing him through the soft-focus darkness of hot night. Presumably he had a bed somewhere, got into it, slept, and – presumably – dreamed. Presumably he grew older, day by day, and looked at each day as a missed opportunity to live a life that was in no way better than the life he was living, but just different. Presumably he edged toward death, fearing losing what he had, regretting ever attaining it. There was a last kiss, everything was forgotten, but in pieces, and in the most painful order. New things were learned slowly, and in the least helpful order. A basket of fruit indicating a sentiment too weak, communicated too late, to a person who was already gone. Presumably.
This has been traffic.
— "Episode 71"