From the very beginning, he wanted a house in which the landscape becomes dreamscape, each of the windows shot through with light:
Some men were born without that numbness in the hands, the little warning to tell them not to, so nothing they do should surprise us. What I meant to say is, I don’t care, or I wouldn’t care, if the word “ardor” were to mean something else entirely.
(That same day, the captain of the small white ship forgot to notify the harbor of his approach, so when our vessel was first spotted, the raid sirens went off and all of the houses on the shore darkened.
In the other version of this story, he was pouring a glass of water and the light then was only half-light, striking the tops of the buildings with such intention—)