My name is Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am eighteen years old, and I live with my sister Constance. I have often thought that with any luck at all, I could have been born a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both my hands are the same length, but I have had to be content with what I had. I dislike washing myself, and dogs, and noise. I like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amanita phalloides, the death-cup mushroom. Everyone else in our family is dead.
("We Have Always Lived in the Castle")
More Quotes from Shirley Jackson: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.
Gossip says she hanged herself from the turret on the tower, but when you have a house like Hill House with a tower and a turret, gossip would hardly allow you to hang yourself anywhere else.
Life Among the Savages is a disrespectful memoir of my children.
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.
All I could think of when I got a look at the place from the outside was what fun it would be to stand out there and watch it burn down.
Our major exports are books and children, both of which we produce in abundance. The children are Laurence, Joanne, Sarah and Carry.
Readers Who Like This Quotation Also Like:Based on Topics: Dogs Quotes, Family Quotes, Name Quotes
Based on Keywords: amanita, blackwood, constance, death-cup, phalloides, plantagenet
Real art is one of the most powerful forces in the rise of mankind, and he who renders it accessible to as many people as possible is a benefactor of humanity.
I'd say we do reach somewhat of a younger audience, but I think for the most part that younger audience is picking our music up from a brother or sister or even parent, who is turning them onto the band.
Who would dare assign to art the sterile function of imitating nature?