I didn't read The Haunting of Hill House until sometime early in the 1990's.

Like the brief doomed flare of exploding suns that registers dimly on blind men's eyes, the beginning of the horror passed almost unnoticed; in the shriek of what followed, in fact, was forgotten and perhaps not connected to the horror at all.

As far as God goes, I _am_ a nonbeliever. Still am. But when it comes to a devil---well, that's something else.

Would you like to hear a nice definition of jealousy? It's the feeling that you get when someone you absolutely detest is having a wonderful time without you.

Yet I think the demon's target is not the possessed; it is us . . . the observers . . . every person in this house. And I think---I think the point is to make us despair; to reject our own humanity, Damien: to see ourselves as ultimately bestial; as ultimately vile and putrescent; without dignity; ugly; unworthy.

The terror drifted over georgetown like the sun over a blind mans eyes

I'm not aware that I was consciously influenced by any director, though these things often happen unnoticed, submerged in the unconscious.