The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us.
There may be a great fire in our hearts yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it and the passers-by see only a wisp of smoke.
What has happened to architecture since the second world war that the only passers-by who can contemplate it without pain are those equipped with a white stick and a dog?
I decided that now is the time to start doing the things that really interest me and I find important. It was in the 10 years of the MacArthur grant that I began working on my first book... and I began putting more work into environmental history.