All I Could Think Of

It Watches," He Added Suddenly. "the House. It Watches Every Move You Make.

The Idea Of A Series Of Items, Following One Another Docilely, Forms The Only Possible Reasonable Approach To Life If You Have To Live It With A Home And A Husband And Children, None Of Whom Would Dream Of Following One Another Docilely.

On The Moon We Have Everything. Lettuce, And Pumpkin Pie And Amanita Phalloides. We Have Cat-furred Plants And Horses Dancing With Their Wings. All The Locks Are Solid And Tight, And There Are No Ghosts.

Hill House, She Thought, You're As Hard To Get Into As Heaven.

[l]et My Reader Who Is Puzzled By My Awkward Explanations Close His Eyes For No More Than Two Minutes, And See If He Does Not Find Himself Suddenly Not A Compact Human Being At All, But Only A Consciousness On A Sea Of Sound And Touch . . .