Every marriage tends to consist of an aristocrat and a peasant. Of a teacher and a learner.

A seventeenth-century house tends to be short on frills like hallways and closets; you must improvise.

I am for poetry that is admired by peasant and aristocrat alike.

The first breath of adultery is the freest; after it, constraints aping marriage develop.

Time is a teacher.

The firmest house in my fiction, probably, is the little thick-walled sandstone farmhouse of 'The Centaur' and 'Of the Farm'; I had lived in that house, and can visualize every floorboard and bit of worn molding.