Italians' relationship to food is loving, informal, and gay.
Silence is the garment of light.
Porches are America's lost rooms.
To surrender one's vulnerable body to water has always seemed to me a limpid act of will that has no coutnerpart or equal, unless it is sex.
All is waiting and all is work; all is change and all is permanence.
It's the perpetually unfinished quality of housework that makes it oppressive - it never ends, like bad psychoanalysis, or a dream interrupted. It is paradoxically true that it is exactly this daily re-creation of the world that lends housekeeping its nobility and romance.