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Quote by Shirley Jackson

“A pretty sight, a lady with a book.”

Book:Novels and Stories: The Lottery, The Haunting of Hill House, We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Other Stories and Sketches

Work

Novels and Stories: The Lottery, The Haunting of Hill House, We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Other Stories and Sketches

This compilation includes classic works such as "The Lottery," a chilling tale of small-town superstition, "The Haunting of Hill House," a psychological horror story, and "We Have Always Lived in the Castle," a mysterious gothic novel. The collection also features a selection of other stories and sketches, showcasing a range of literary styles and narratives. more

Author

Shirley Jackson

Shirley Jackson (December 14, 1916 – August 8, 1965) was an American author whose dark and unsettling stories have left a lasting impact on the horror genre. Known for her psychological insights and the way she intertwines the supernatural with everyday life, Jackson's work has been widely celebrated for its originality and depth. more

“I wrote poetry from the time I could write. That was the only way I could begin to express who I was but the poems didn't make sense to my teachers. They didn't rhyme. They were about the wind sounds, the planets' motions, never about who I was or how I felt. I didn't think I felt anything. I was this mind more than a body or a heart. My mind photographing the stars, hearing the wind.”

Thinking Way Writing Mind Heart Body Stars Felt Sound Teacher Planets Wind Hearing Make Sense Rhyme

Author:Francesca Lia Block

“You're the perfect girl', he said, rubbing his chin. 'You expect nothing.”

Said Girl Perfect Chins Expect Nothing Perfect Girl

Book:The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake

Source: The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake

“And a step backward, after making a wrong turn, is a step in the right direction.”

Turns Responsibility Steps Right Direction Wrong Turn Steps In The Right Direction Player Piano

Book:Player Piano

Source: Player Piano

“Her heart felt as if it were breaking in her breast, bleeding and bleeding, young and fierce. From grief over the warm and ardent love which she had lost and still secretly mourned; from anguished joy over the pale, luminous love which drew her to the farthest boundaries of life on this earth. Through the great darkness that would come, she saw the gleam of another, gentler sun, and she sensed the fragrance of the herbs in the garden at world's end.”