“There it was: a pale yellow modernist house, perched precariously on the edge of San Francisco’s Telegraph Hill. As the hill eroded, so did the foundations of the house. At first, chunks of rock fell, then pieces of the house”. […] “When a beautiful house falls apart this way, the image of loss is grand and public, and it stays lodged in the mind. It stayed lodged in my mind for another reason: I loved that house once. It was where I spent my first night when I moved to San Francisco in 1976”.
Geography of Home, writings on where we live – Preface pp.11
“Here, each person’s real home is the place where they sleep, therefore little wonder that the first concern of new arrivals should be to choose a bed, just as they had done in the other ward when they still had eyes to see”
Blindness – Translated by Giovanni Pontiero pp 60