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.
Shirley JacksonRead
Journeys end in lovers meeting; I have spent an all but sleepless night, I have told lies and made a fool of myself, and the very air tastes like wine. I have been frightened half out of my foolish wits, but I have somehow earned this joy; I have been waiting for it for so long.
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote reflects the joy and complexity of love, highlighting the emotional journey it entails.
In this quote, Shirley Jackson captures the essence of romantic love and the myriad experiences that accompany it. The speaker describes a tumultuous journey filled with sleepless nights, fear, and self-doubt, yet ultimately conveys a profound sense of joy that comes from the culmination of love. It speaks to the idea that the path to love can be fraught with challenges, but the rewards make it all worthwhile, suggesting that true love is a destination that is eagerly awaited.
Themes
LoveJourneyJoyEmotionsRelationships
In practice
Example use cases
This quote is perfect for a wedding toast celebrating the couple's journey together.
More from Shirley Jackson
All quotes →It watches," he added suddenly. "The house. It watches every move you make.
Shirley JacksonRead
There had not been this many words sounded in our house for a long time, and it was going to take a while to clean them out.
Shirley JacksonRead
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 JacksonRead
I can't help it when people are frightened," says Merricat. "I always want to frighten them more.
Shirley JacksonRead
I was pretending that I did not speak their language; on the moon we spoke a soft, liquid tongue, and sang in the starlight, looking down on the dead dried world.
Shirley JacksonRead
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You always fed strays and bent down to talk to the dogs you met on the street, looking straight into their eyes as if they were old friends. (Maybe they are, you said. From another life.) You liked to go to the pound and look at them. You tried to send them messages of comfort. I couldn’t go because I started crying the one time I tried. All those eyes and the barks like sobs.
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My imagination, my ability to understand the way love and people grow over time, how passion can surprise and renew, utterly failed me.
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