Literature is not the business of a woman's life, and it cannot be.
Letter from SOUTHEY to CHARLOTTE BRONTË, 1837
This one, especially, is for Kristen.
If only Simon weren't such a practical joker!
A house of stone can be either a refuge or a prison.
I prefer horror to be more delicate—a frisson, a suggestion, instead of a catalog of disgusting details. The whisper from an invisible throat, the shadow where there is no object to cast it, a sudden breath of cold air in a warm room.
The friendly, intimate ambience Simon had created was partially responsible, but the books themselves had an almost physical effect upon her. What they represented was little short of a miracle—contact, as direct as any spiritualist medium could claim, with minds long dead.
They were the most charming pair of King Charles spaniels Karen had ever seen.
Professor Karen Holloway travels to Virginia to search for the grave of Ismene, the mysterious author of a battered 19th-century manuscript. But eerie, inexplicable coincidences make Karen wonder if Ismene is desperately trying to warn her from the grave.