Good God, Trump is such a graceless, pathetic clod. Four years of this? Really? https://t.co/omtP8FVxHn
Hey Trump -- you'll be nostalgic for the #WomensMarch come tomorrow. That's when state-level action starts, every single day. 'Night!
Not a single acting gig. I'm forced to act with groups of people in things, usually. It's beyond tragic. https://t.co/QVu0QuaTXx
Not only do you look like me, you're as big a pussy as I am. Except I'm not scared by...people sitting in a lobby? https://t.co/dsZD8sjC45
I am profoundly sorry and embarrassed. Please accept my apology. https://t.co/nz6bfI4cZ0

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Sat, Oct 28


31 HORROR STORIES -- The opening paragraph of THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE (1959)

@ 1:00 PM

"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 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."

Shirley Jackson could write short stories that hung with you like great novels. She could also write paragraphs which could, alone, creep you to your toenails. THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE starts out that way, and never lets up. Stay with us forever, Eleanor.



 
 
   
   
   
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