“The house appeared just as cozy and welcoming as the first time I saw it. Now, though, I knew what I was seeing was just the architecture, the outer shell; it didn't mean anything about the type of house it was inside.”

“There's something about houses that intrigues me. I mean, they're the place where families spend all their time together, making the house filled with love, life, and laughter. I always look at houses and wonder what's going on inside. Without the people who lived in them, they're just a shell, but once they're filled, they become sacred ground, the place where memories are made.”

“The weird thing about houses is that they almost always look like nothing is happening inside of them, even though they contain most of our lives. I wondered if that was sort of the point of architecture.”

“I never knew a building could hold so much inside.. . . I saw my town as if I had just arrived. It was as if I was waking up. You see houses and buildings every day, and you walk by them on your way to something else, and you hardly see. You hardly notice they're even there, mostly because there's something else going on right in front of your face. But when the town itself becomes the thing that is going on right in front of your face, it all changes, and you're not just looking at a house but at what's happened in that house before you were born.”

“So it just wasn't in my house. Anywhere, I looked like I knew about the toilet.”

“ I went to a house that was not a house. I opened a door that was not a door. And what I saw, I saw.”