They call them the haunted shores, these stretches of Devonshire and Cornwall and Ireland which rear up against the westward ocean. Mists gather here, and sea fog, and eerie stories. That's not because there are more ghosts here than in other places, mind you. It's just that people who live hereabouts are strangely aware of them.

... for I know I shall be interrupted-- I shall want to be, really, because life is too exciting to sit still for long.

Oh, it is wonderful to wake up in the morning with things to look forward to!

...surely I could give him--a sort of contentment... That isn't enough to give. Not for the giver.

I could hear rain still pouring from the gutters and a thin branch scraping against one of the windows; but the church seemed completely cut off from the restless day outside--just as I felt cut off from the church. I thought: I am a restlessness inside a stillness inside a restlessness.

My God - it's a green child!" said the American. "What is this place - the House of Usher?

extreme happiness invites religion almost as much as extreme misery.