Someone else

"What I see is a house, or the idea of a house, enormous and unknowable in its full extent, a house in which rooms only partly reveal themselves, in which mirrors are to be walked into, pictures disappeared into, in which chairs and beds are big enough to swallow you entirely. I can never see any part of this house, not one room, not one corridor clearly, only as a patchwork of dark and light (chiefly dark) containing isolated angles of objects or furniture. [...] and it has a music too, comprised of creaks, whispers and snuffles; rain on glass, branches on windows, someone singing in a kitchen, someone listening to a radio in a distant room, a music always elsewhere. [...] Some rooms are so filled with hatred you can smell it across a stairway. I couldn't begin to number the attics and cellars; the pantries, privies and vaults; the kitchens far below. There is no outside to this house."