In the market place of Bruges stands the Belfry old and brown;
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the town.
(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. The Belfry of Bruges)
As he walked, the sad faded leaves were driven pitilessly around him by the wind, and under the mingling influences of autumn and evening, a craving for the quietude of the grave...overtook him with unwanted intensity.
I arrived in Brussels, about a hundred years ago, or the day before yesterday perhaps.....from the start, there was one place that tempted me, just behind the Theatre de la Monnaie, an old cafe full of old mouldings and faded mirrors whose name explodes in pseudo-erotic-gothic red neon: La Morte Subite.
(Maurice Bejart. La Morte Subite Journal in Time)
"Oysters are the most tender and delicate of all seafoods. They stay in bed all day and all night. They never work or take exercise, they are stupendous drinkers, and wait for their meals to come to them".
A house is never still in darkness to those who listen intently; there is the whispering in different chambers, an unearthly hand presses the snib of the window, the latch rises. Ghosts were created when the first man awoke in the night.
(J M Barrie)
One need not be a chamber to be haunted;
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing material place.