Don't Do It, Eleanor Told The Little

No Live Organism Can Continue For Long To Exist Sanely Under Conditions Of Absolute Reality; Even Larks And Katydids Are Supposed, By Some, To Dream. Hill House, Not Sane, Stood By Itself Against Its Hills, Holding Darkness Within; It Had Stood So For Eighty Years And Might Stand For Eighty More. 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.

February, When The Days Of Winter Seem Endless And No Amount Of Wistful Recollecting Can Bring Back Any Air Of Summer.

It Is Only With The Eyes Open That A Corporeal Form Returns, And Assembles Itself Firmly Around The Hard Core Of Sight.

[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 . . .

The Number Of People Who Expected Mrs. Hutchinson To Win A Bendix Washer Would Amaze You.