Shirley Jackson

No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality;

Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within

silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.

I would like to watch her dying, Eleanor thought, and smiled back and said, “Don’t be silly.”

can’t stand it, Eleanor thought concretely. This is monstrous, this is cruel, they have been hurting a child and I won’t let anyone hurt a child, and the babbling went on, low and steady, on and on and on, the voice rising a little and falling a little, going on and on.

God God,” Eleanor said, flinging herself out of bed and across the room to stand shuddering in a corner, “God God—whose hand was I holding?”

No, she thought, you are not going to catch me so cheaply; I do not understand words and will not accept them in trade for my feelings; this man is a parrot.

Peace, Eleanor thought concretely; what I want in all this world is peace, a quiet spot to lie and think, a quiet spot up among the flowers where I can dream and tell myself sweet stories

don’t understand.” Theodora threw down her pencil in exasperation. “Do you always go where you’re not wanted?”
Eleanor smiled placidly. “I’ve never been wanted anywhere,” she said

It was my fault my mother died,” Eleanor said. “She knocked on the wall and called me and called me and I never woke up. I ought to have brought her the medicine; I always did before. But this time she called me and I never woke up.”