ezra

“I am not a place where nature can be weeded and tamed and kept in order. I am tree roots — and dark hollows — and ancient moss — and the cry of owls. I am not a thing that you can shape, not anymore. I am no garden, but the woods, and if you ever come near me again, every bit of wildness in me will rise up to bite you. I will tear your throat out with my teeth.”
― Elliott Gish, Grey Dog

“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.”
― Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House

“I was overcome by the most voluptuous feeling of pleasure, a feral carnality that made me long to sink into the earth. I wanted to dig my hands into black soil and let the worms slide between my fingers. I wanted to invite the swarming mayflies to land upon my breasts and dart into my open mouth. I wanted to spread my legs and watch the black wolf spiders creep along their length, seeking with their spindly limbs some dark crevice to call home.”
― Elliott Gish