The Haunting Of Hill House Quotes

Eleanor found herself unexpectedly admiring her own feet. Theodora dreamed over the fire beyond the tips of her toes, and Eleanor thought with deep satisfaction that her feet were handsome in their red sandals; what a complete and separate thing I am, she thought, going from my red toes to the top of my head, individually an I, possessed of attributes belonging only to me. I have red shoes, she thought-that goes with being Eleanor; I dislike lobster and sleep on my left side and crack my knuckles when I am nervous and save buttons. I am holding a brandy glass which is mine because I am here and I am using it and I have a place in this room. I have red shoes and tomorrow I will wake up and I will still be here. 'I have red shoes,' she said very softly, and Theodora turned and smiled up at her. ~ Shirley Jackson

She wants her cup of stars. ~ Shirley Jackson

Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone. ~ Shirley Jackson

It's not nice to think of children growing up like mushrooms, in the dark. ~ Shirley Jackson

I saw our daughter dance at her wedding. Her smile was like a light and it was reflected in everyone's faces, and I recognized that light.

Because it was ours.

We did that.

We loved each other so well that it spread out into the universe and it created a new star.

-Hugh Crain - The Haunting of Hill House ~ Mike Flanagan

I do love Shirley Jackson, but I don't deserve to be named in connection with her. I remember reading 'The Haunting of Hill House' and having goosebumps for hours. The way she builds narrative pressure in that book is just amazing. I think you could reread it a few times and actually go out of your mind. ~ Helen Oyeyemi

Godfrey watched helplessly as she crossed the boundary of the property, the lamppost's light extinguishing suddenly as she passed, and continued headlong down the hill; he heard the percussions of her footfalls after she passed from sight, and as those faded the rise of her cry into something horrific and wrathful, a thorn in the paw of the heavens. ~ Brian McGreevy

It was still early, and though the sun's lower limb was just free of the hill, his rays, ungenial and peering, addressed the eye rather than the touch as yet. There was not a human soul near. Sad October and her sadder self seemed the only two existences haunting that lane. ~ Thomas Hardy

I was on Kanye's Yeezus tour as a dancer, but really, I was a Vanessa Beecroft model. I was one of the three 'dancers' who couldn't dance and was more of an accessory than an individual. Vanessa was pretty involved. Her style is about a lot of standing. It's very simple but haunting. ~ Kacy Hill

He froze, becoming stone still. As the hover climbed the hill to the palace, his shoulders sank, and he returned his gaze to the window. "She's my alpha," he murmured, with a haunting sadness in his voice.
Alpha.
Cress leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees, "Like the star?"
"What star?"
She stiffened, instantly embarrassed, and scooted back from him again. "Oh. Um. In a constellation, the brightest star is called the alpha. I thought maybe you meant that she's ... like ... your brightest star." Looking away, she knotted her hands in her lap, aware that she was blushing furiously now and this beast of a man was about to realize what an over-romantic sap she was.
But instead of sneering or laughing, Wolf sighed, "Yes," he said, his gaze climbing up to the full moon that had emerged in the blue evening sky. "Exactly like that. ~ Marissa Meyer

He took her hand again, enjoying the spark of fire that lit through his bloodstream and led her through the fog toward River Street.

Seeing the usually bustling area empty was equally beautiful and haunting. It brought back memories of earlier days. Centuries before cell phones and email.

Back when his crew would drop anchor in the cloak of night and shanghai new crew members out of the pubs.

Lifetimes ago. ~ Lisa Kessler

The hotel was quaint, and their room had a little balcony over an atrium, which seemingly was home to several stray cats and had the stench of stale urine. Looking down, Lilac felt faint. The hairs on the back of her neck were erect. Sensing a haunting presence in the atrium below her, she quickly stepped back inside and closed the balcony windows to shut out the unwelcoming energy. ~ Lali A. Love

No house should ever be on a hill or on anything. It should be of the hill. Belonging to it. Hill and house should live together each the happier for the other. ~ Frank Lloyd Wright

I shake my head, knowing that if it hadn't been for me, Ben wouldn't have been there in the first place. I try to tell him that, but he swats my words away with his hand and says he wants to show me something.
"Sure," I say, wondering if he's really as nervous as he seems.
He clenches his teeth and hesitates a couple of moments; the angles of his face seem to grow sharper. Finally, he motions to the pant leg of his jeans.
There's a tear right over his thigh.
"I know you saw it in the hospital," he says, exposing the chameleon tattoo through the torn fabric. "I felt you . . . looking at it. Anyway, I wanted you to know that I did this back home, before I ever came to Freetown. Before I ever met you."
"So it's a coincidence?"
His dark gray eyes swallow mine whole. "Do you honestly believe that?"
"No," I say, listening as he proceeds to tell me that a few months before he got to town, he touched his mother's wedding band - something that reminded him of soul mates - and the image of a chameleon stuck inside his head.
"I couldn't get it out of my mind," he explains. "It was almost like the image was welded to my brain, behind my eyes, haunting me even when I tried to sleep."
"And you got the tattoo because of that?"
"Because I hoped its permanence might help me understand it more - might help me understand what it had to do with my own soul mate."
"And do you understand now?" I ask, swallowing hard.
"Yeah." He smiles. "I ~ Laurie Faria Stolarz

Our common experience in fact is the opposite - that the past, far from disappearing or lying down and being quiet, has an embarrassing and persistent way of returning and haunting us unless it has in fact been dealt with adequately. Unless we look the beast in the eye we find it has an uncanny habit of returning to hold us hostage. ~ Desmond Tutu

Jake La Botz is a creator of dark poetry and haunting song, the kind of music that gets in your bones and rides you for days, a sound and vision only those who've been to the bottom and clawed their way back up can generate. His midnight gifts evoke Hank Williams and Skip James as much as Tom Waits and Dylan. Not everybody will get this music - because not everybody is ready for the truth. ~ Jerry Stahl

Miss Kay

I love to laugh with my grandchildren. I want them to have fun with me, and I try to make just about everything an adventure. One day I decided to take them to visit Phil's sister, who lives just over the hill and through the woods from Phil and me. There is a well-worn trail Phil and I normally take to her house, but that day I thought I would give the children a little adventure by taking a different route. I led the way down an overgrown path that was completely covered with vines. We almost felt like we were pioneering through an African jungle. The children loved it, and I thought it was fun, too, until I got so tangled up in a bunch of vines I literally could not move. I didn't want to frighten them, so I started laughing and crying, "Help me! Help me!" very dramatically. To this day, the children have no idea I was really stuck. I truly could not get out of those vines. I was laughing so hard they thought I was kidding. Thankfully, someone came to my house while I was all tied up, heard us laughing in the distance, and came to my rescue. Now that was an adventure, and the kids just love to laugh and retell it. ~ Korie Robertson

Mix up your routine," she told him as she started up the stairs. "Your out-of-the-house routine. The shopping, the visiting gravesites, haunting houses with the other ghouls--whatever it is you do. Mix it up for the next few days.

"I have a scheduled haunting tonight, but it can be postponed. ~ J.D. Robb

A specter is haunting the cinema: the specter of narrative. If that apparition is an Angel, we must embrace it; and if it is a Devil, then we must cast it out. But we cannot know what it is until we have met it face to face. ~ Hollis Frampton

Mary Magdalene

With wandering eyes and aimless zeal,
She hither, thither, goes;
Her speech, her motions, all reveal
A mind without repose.

She climbs the hills, she haunts the sea,
By madness tortured, driven;
One hour's forgetfulness would be
A gift from very heaven!

She slumbers into new distress;
The night is worse than day:
Exulting in her helplessness;
Hell's dogs yet louder bay.

The demons blast her to and fro;
She has not quiet place,
Enough a woman still, to know
A haunting dim disgrace.

A human touch! a pang of death!
And in a low delight
Thou liest, waiting for new breath,
For morning out of night.

Thou risest up: the earth is fair,
The wind is cool; thou art free!
Is it a dream of hell's despair
Dissolves in ecstasy?

That man did touch thee! Eyes divine
Make sunrise in thy soul;
Thou seest love in order shine:-
His health hath made thee whole!

Thou, sharing in the awful doom,
Didst help thy Lord to die;
Then, weeping o'er his empty tomb,
Didst hear him Mary cry.

He stands in haste; he cannot stop;
Home to his God he fares:
'Go tell my brothers I go up
To my Father, mine and theirs.'

Run, Mary! lift thy heavenly voice;
Cry, cry, and heed not how;
Make all the new-risen world rejoice-
Its ~ George MacDonald

That seems to be the haunting fear of mankind - that the advancement of women will sometime, someway, someplace, interfere with some man's comfort. ~ Nellie L. McClung

Independence isn't all it's cracked up to be, you know. What country could be more independent than Russia? And in Russia now there isn't a squeak or a pinpoint of light. I have nowhere to publish. The Contemporary has stuck its head up out of harm's way. So I've stopped quarrelling with the world. I sat in this chair the first morning I woke up in this house ... and for the first time ... for a long time, there was silence. I didn't have to talk or think or move, nothing was expected of me, I knew nobody and nobody knew where i was, everything was behind me, all the moving from place to place, the quarrels and celebrations, the desperate concerns of health and happiness, love, death, printer's errors, picnics ruined by rain, the endless tumult of life ... and I just sat quiet and alone all day, looking at the tops of trees on Primrose Hill through the mist. ~ Tom Stoppard

Though leaving him always to remark, portentously, on his probably having formed a relation, his probably enjoying a consciousness, unique in the experience of man. People enough, first and last, had been in terror of apparitions, but who had ever before so turned the tables and become himself, in the apparitional world, an incalculable terror? He might have found this sublime had he quite dared to think of it; but he didn't too much insist, truly, on that side of his privilege. ~ Henry James

Emotionally, I have no picture-book illustrated with memories of my first five years, but externally, I have impressions that possess a haunting vividness comparable only to the texture of dreams, when dreams are tumultuously alive. ~ E.F. Benson

The girls cannot contain their joy. They must start rehearsing immediately. They teach Saluni a new song that they have composed at the swamps. It is about croaking frogs in their green and brown colours and how the girls caught them and pierced their eyes with sharp sticks and set them free to hop about in wonderful blindness. It is a haunting melody. They tell Saluni that the song is all about the fun they had at the swamps today. The blinded frogs will live peacefully because now they won't be bothered by the bright rays of the sun. They won't have to run from danger, because they won't see it. They will therefore be safe since danger only catches those who run away from it. ~ Zakes Mda

The meagre lighthouse all in white, haunting the seaboard, as if it were the ghost of an edifice that had once had colour and rotundity, dripped melancholy tears after its late buffeting by the waves. ~ Charles Dickens

Sometimes time can play tricks. One moment it idles by, an hour can seem a lifetime, such as when sitting by the river at dusk watching the bats snatching insects above the limpid waters; the breaching fish causing ringed ripples and a satisfying plop. Other times, time flashes by in an immodest fashion. So it is with the start of war. First time quivers with the last strum of a wonderful peace, the note holding in the air, mysterious and haunting, filling the listener with awe. Then, with a rising crescendo the terror starts with uncouth haste; with a boom the listener is shaken from their reverie and delivered into the servitude, of an ear-shattering cacophony. ~ M.A. Lossl

It reminded him of the truth - who he really was, and the fact that no matter how far he ran, his past would be right there with him. ~ Kayla Krantz

I paid the taxi driver, got out with my suitcase, surveyed my surroundings, and just as I was turning to ask the driver something or get back into the taxi and return forthwith to Chillán and then to Santiago, it sped off without warning, as if the somewhat ominous solitude of the place had unleashed atavistic fears in the driver's mind. For a moment I too was afraid. I must have been a sorry sight standing there helplessly with my suitcase from the seminary, holding a copy of Farewell's Anthology in one hand. Some birds flew out from behind a clump of trees. They seemed to be screaming the name of that forsaken village, Querquén, but they also seemed to be enquiring who: quién, quién, quién. I said a hasty prayer and headed for a wooden bench, there to recover a composure more in keeping with what I was, or what at the time I considered myself to be. Our Lady, do not abandon your servant, I murmured, while the black birds, about twenty-five centimetres in length, cried quién, quién, quién. Our Lady of Lourdes, do not abandon your poor priest, I murmured, while other birds, about ten centimetres long, brown in colour, or brownish, rather, with white breasts, called out, but not as loudly, quién, quién, quién, Our Lady of Suffering, Our Lady of Insight, Our Lady of Poetry, do not leave your devoted subject at the mercy of the elements, I murmured, while several tiny birds, magenta, black, fuchsia, yellow and blue in colour, wailed quién, quién, quién, at which point a cold win ~ Roberto Bolano

She saw it in her mind's eye like a movie playing, the haunting memories from her childhood she couldn't seem to shake blending together into one raw, aching image. Her mother lying in a darkened room for days, her face swollen with tears. The inevitable ashtray overrun with ashes, the acrid scent of pot smoke in the air. The bed or couch or futon may have been different from year to year as Evie moved them around from apartment to commune to funky cottage, but her mother was always the same. Falling hard for some man, immersing herself in romantic fantasies that were crushed when the guy left. And the guy always left. Her mother's inability to get a grasp on reality had too often left Mischa to care for her younger sister, to care for her mother, from too young an age. She remembered shaking Evie awake, trying to get her to eat. To get up and take a shower, take her and Raine to school. No kid should have to do that. No kid should have to witness the way Evie had allowed herself to be ravaged by love. No woman should allow that to happen. ~ Eve Berlin

The man she loved was no more than a mirage - his image ever-present and haunting, but as empty and out of reach as the love she'd hoped to have. ~ Julie Lessman

I know that I am going to meet a personal variation on reality; a partial view of reality. But I know also that by that partiality, that distancing from the shared experience, it will be new: a revelation. It will be a vision, a more or less powerful or haunting dream. A space-voyage through somebody else's psychic abysses. It will fall short of tragedy, because tragedy is the truth, and truth is what the very great artists, the absolute novelists, tell. It will not be truth; but it will be imagination. Truth is best. For it encompasses tragedy and partakes of the eternal joy. But very few of us know it; the best we can do is recognize it. Imagination - to me - is the next best. For it partakes of Creation, which is one aspect of the eternal joy.
All the rest is either Politics or Pedantry, or Mainstream Fiction, may it rest in peace. ~ Ursula K. Le Guin

There is an anxiety in being yourself, though. There is the haunting question of "What if?" always lingering. What if who I am will never be enough? What if I will never be right enough for someone? ~ Roxane Gay

All three of the English types I have mentioned can, I think, be accounted for as the results of the presence of different cultures, existing side by side in the country, and who were the creation of the folk in ages distantly removed one from another. In a word, they represent specific " strata" of folk-imagination. The most diminutive of all are very probably to be associated with a New Stone Age conception of spirits which haunted burial-mounds and rude stone monuments. We find such tiny spirits haunting the great stone circles of Brittany. The "Small People," or diminutive fairies of Cornwall, says Hunt, are believed to be "the spirits of people who inhabited Cornwall many thousands of years ago. "The spriggans, of the same area, are a minute and hirsute family of fairies" found only about the cairns, cromlechs, barrows, or detached stones, with which it is unlucky to meddle." Of these, the tiny fairies of Shakespeare, Drayton, and the Elizabethans appear to me to be the later representatives. The latter are certainly not the creation of seventeenth-century poets, as has been stated, but of the aboriginal folk of Britain. ~ Lewis Spence

My father played the melodion
Outside at our gate;
There were stars in the morning east;
And they danced to his music.
Across the wild bogs his melodion called
To Lennons and Callans.
As I pulled on my trousers in a hurry
I knew some strange thing had happened.
Outside in the cow-house my mother
Made the music of milking;
The light of her stable-lamp was a star
And the frost of Bethlehem made it twinkle.
A water-hen screeched in the bog,
Mass-going feet
Crunched the wafer-ice on the pot-holes,
Somebody wistfully twisted the bellows wheel.
My child poet picked out the letters
On the grey stone,
In silver the wonder of a Christmas townland,
The winking glitter of a frosty dawn.
Cassiopeia was over
Cassidy's hanging hill,
I looked and three whin bushes rode across
The horizon - the Three Wise Kings.
An old man passing said:
"Can't he make it talk" -
The melodion, I hid in the doorway
And tightened the belt of my box-pleated coat.
I nicked six nicks on the door-post
With my penknife's big blade -
There was a little one for cutting tobacco.
And I was six Christmases of age.
My father played the melodion,
My mother milked the cows,
And I had a prayer like a white rose pinned
On the Virgin Mary's blouse ~ Patrick Kavanagh

The world we suggest is a new wild west. A sensuous evil world. Strange and haunting, the path of the sun ... ~ Jim Morrison

All of a sudden, I'm thinking that if I keep eating the way I'm eating, I'm not going to live long and I'm going to die. Having those thoughts as a young person can be very haunting. ~ Richard Simmons

Hill House has an impressive list of tragedies connected with it, but then, most old houses have. People have to live and die somewhere, after all, and a house can hardly stand for eighty years without seeing some of its inhabitants dies within its walls. ~ Shirley Jackson

But when my gaze falls on my bed, I freeze, no longer worried what Nolan thinks of the pink or DR.Hoo or my unicorn collection. Instead, I hold up my hand and point at the checkerboard. Someone has made the next move. ~ Paige McKenzie

When words fail, haunting images capture the experience and return as nightmares and flashbacks. In contrast to the deactivation of Broca's area, another region, Brodmann's area 19, lit up in our participants. This is a region in the visual cortex that registers images when they first enter the brain. We were surprised to see brain activation in this area so long after the original experience of the trauma. Under ordinary conditions raw images registered in area 19 are rapidly diffused to other brain areas that interpret the meaning of what has been seen. Once again, we were witnessing a brain region rekindled as if the trauma were actually occurring. ~ Bessel A. Van Der Kolk

But first I want your life: - before I die I want to see
The world that lies behind the strangeness of your eyes
There is nothing gay or green there for my gathering, it may be,
Yet on brown fields there lies
A haunting purple bloom: is there not something in grey skies
And in grey sea?
I want what world there is behind your eyes, ~ Charlotte Mew

I knew I wouldn't discover happiness in a faraway place or in unusual circumstances; it was right here, right now - as in the haunting play "The Blue Bird," where two children spend a year searching the world for the Blue Bird of Happiness, only to find it waiting for them when they finally return home. ~ Gretchen Rubin

Perhaps Nickel was the very afterlife that awaited him, with a White House down the hill and an eternity of oatmeal and an infinite brotherhood of broken boys. ~ Colson Whitehead

The MOMENT YOUR UNIVERSE SPINS OUT of control and collides with something so much greater than yourself, your initial reaction is shock and fright-a deep-seeded fear that runs through every inch of your body and brain. As you are jounced from your course, silence surrounds you, haunting you as the world around you tilts off its axis. All you can do is wait for the fall. ~ Carlyle Labuschagne

I asked him what the amulet meant to him, what its meaning was. At first, I thought he wasn't going to answer. But then, in a haunting voice, he said that it represented the dance with death. I was horrified by that. He said the dance with death was the way of the War Wizard. ~ Terry Goodkind

The world as we know it, cruel, dark and hopeless, have gifted us one more reason why, as a species, shoud we accept the fact that we're living in absolute ignorance. One more chunk of food for our fears and desperations. One more nightmarish and haunting thought for our dreams. ~ Mladen Đorđević

I felt a haunting loneliness sometimes, and felt it in others
young clerks in the dusk, wasting the most poignant moments of night and life. ~ F Scott Fitzgerald

Fiercely original and uncommonly lovely, The Witch's Boy is equal parts enchanting and haunting. Kelly Barnhill is master of truly potent and unruly magic; luckily for readers, she chooses to use her powers for good. ~ Anne Ursu

Vic didn't have a car and probably spent a hundred and sixty hours a week at home. The house smelled of piss-soaked diapers and engine parts, and the sink was always full.
In retrospect Vic was only surprised she didn't go crazy sooner. She was surprised that more young mothers didn't lose it. When your tits had become canteens and the soundtrack to your life was hysterical tears and mad laughter, how could anyone expect you to remain sane? ~ Joe Hill

Around my house, I won't even speak to my family unless they first address me by my official Berzerker name, Godred Crovan, Victor of Sky-Hill and Ruler of Man and the Isles. And now that I think of it, that's probably why nobody speaks to me unless it's time to feed the dogs or take out the garbage. ~ Zakk Wylde

One night a flock of red-tailed black cockatoos break the quiet as they charge up from the creek, right over the homestead, then down the hill towards Clem's house.
'They're my favourite, you know, of all the birds, they're the best,' comes Tom's raspy whisper.
'I know Dad,' says Clem. 'You always say.'
'They're majestic, dramatic. You wouldn't argue with one. ~ Nicole Sinclair

Bitterly I wondered if Hardy was going to overshadow every relationship for the rest of my life, haunting me like a ghost. I didn't know how to let him go. I'd never even had him. ~ Lisa Kleypas

He thought about telling them of his own single, haunting detail. But he didn't want to add to the horror, and nor did he want to give life to the image while it remained at a distance, held there by wine and companionship. ~ Ian McEwan

To paraphrase Karl Marx, the great Karl Marx, a specter is haunting the streets of Copenhagen ... Capitalism is the specter, almost nobody wants to mention it ... Socialism, the other specter Karl Marx spoke about, which walks here too, rather it is like a counter-specter. Socialism, this is the direction, this is the path to save the planet, I don't have the least doubt. Capitalism is the road to hell, to the destruction of the world. ~ Hugo Chavez

The promise of pleasures so alluring that we may devote our lives to their pursuit, and then the haunting realization that these pleasures ultimately do not satisfy. ~ Philip Yancey