May Summer Last A Hundred Years.

The Longer You Are In A Place, The More You Get Under Its Layers.

May Summer Last A Hundred Years.

Sometimes The Valley Below Is Like A Bowl Filled Up With Fog. I Can See Hard Green Figs On Two Trees And Pears On A Tree Just Below Me. A Fine Crop Coming In. May Summer Last A Hundred Years.

I'm Just Fascinated By Houses. In Another Life, I'd Have Probably Trained As An Architect. If I Had Enough Money, I'd Collect Them Like Other People Collect Teapots. I Don't Know Why I Love Them So Much. I'm Just Very Interested In The Idea Of A House As A Metaphor For The Way One Lives.

Whatever A Guidebook Says, Wether Or Not You Leave Somewhere With A Sense Of The Place Is Entirely A Matter Of Smell And Instinct.