“The impoverished always try to keep moving, as if relocating might help. They ignore the reality that a new version of the same old problem will be waiting at the end of the trip . . . ”
Without a doubt, you were lucky to be raised here. But you never got to move here—and for that, I am sorry for you. You missed one of life’s great experiences. New York City in 1940! There will never be another New York like that one. I’m not defaming all the New Yorks that came before 1940, or all the New Yorks that came after 1940. They all have their importance. But this is a city that gets born anew in the fresh eyes of every young person who arrives here for the first time. So that city, that place—newly created for my eyes only—will never exist again. It is preserved forever in my memory like an orchid trapped in a paperweight. That city will always be my perfect New York.”
“I read once that the ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand & the Eskimos had a hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep & there are no words for that.”
“I’ve never had the same house, or the same room for more than a few years, and sometimes I feel like the little pieces of me on this chain are all I have.”
“Teaches them that even though people are left behind, new ones will inevitable take their place; that every place has something good - and bad - to offer.”
“I’ve lived in this room all my fifteen years, all my 5,530 days. I’ve laughed and cried and moaned and muttered in this room. I’ve loved people and things and hated them. It’s been a big part of my life, of me. Will we ever be the same when we’re closed in by other walls? Will we think other thoughts and have different emotions? Oh, Mother, Daddy, maybe we’re making a mistake, maybe we’ll be leaving too much of ourselves behind!”
“You have to churn somewhat when the roof covering your head is at stake, since to sell is to walk away from a cluster of memories and to buy is to choose where the future will take place.”
“It’s clear to me now that I have been moving toward you and you toward me for a long time. Though neither of us was aware of the other before we met, there was a kind of mindless certainty bumming blithely along beneath our ignorance that ensured we would come together.”
A couple of years after his wife died. It was too much to love in the apartment without her, everything reminded him, so when an apartment opened up in the floor above me he moved in.”
“I would do anything for you,
if convenient.
I would move a mountain for you
if that mountain could be moved
with a button or with a lever that
wasn’t too cold to the touch.”
“By nine o’clock the movers were gone. Ellie and Gage, both exhausted. were sleeping in their new rooms, Gage in his crib, Ellie on a mattress on the floor surrounded by a foothill of boxes--her billions of Crayolas, whole broken, and blunted; her Sesame Street posters; her picture books; her clothes; heaven knew what else.”
″... Pa and Ma and Mary and Laura and baby Carrie left their little house in the Big Woods of Wisconsin. They drove away and left it lonely and empty in the clearing among the big trees, and they never saw that little house again.”
“Well, you really are your own worst critic. I’m sure it’s amazing. I remember that paper that you wrote in school about synaptic behavioral routines. It made me cry.”
“I had a dream about you last night.
We moved into a cabin in the countryside.
I couldn’t handle the spiders.
You couldn’t handle my drama.
I moved back to the city.”
“Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret. We’re moving today. I’m so scared God. I’ve never lived anywhere but here. Suppose I hate my new school? Suppose everybody there hates me? Please help me God. Don’t let New Jersey be too horrible. Thank you.”
“So they all went away from the little log house. The shutters were over the windows, so the little house could not see them go. It stayed there inside the log fence, behind the two big oak trees that in the summertime had made green roofs for Mary and Laura to play under. And that was the last of the little house.”
“But why? Why move? We’ve got a better place to live right now. We’ve got all the food we want. We’ve got electricity, and lights, and running water. I can’t understand why everybody talks about changing things.”
The story centers on a mother and her three children, a set of twins and their older sister, who have just moved into the old dilapidated house that has been in the family for years. Very soon after moving in, strange occurrences begin to happen and the children dedicate themselves to solving the mystery.
“They searched among the pews, looking under the seats, lifting hassocks, moving piles of hymn-books, creeping about and popping up in unexpected places. Reverend Timms did find something, but it was not Sarah-Ann. It was a lady’s glove.”
“And the monster is back. Every now and then he can hear it move under the bed. It sighs. It licks its paws. Sometimes it turns over. It never does anything, but it lies there.”