"He has no castle in the Apennines."
"What has he? An ugly brick house in Fortieth Street? Don＇t tell me that; I refuse to recognise that as an ideal."
"I don＇t care anything about his house," said Isabel.
"That＇s very crude of you. When you＇ve lived as long as I you＇ll see that every human being has his shell and that you must take the shell into account. By the shell I mean the whole envelope of circumstances. There＇s no such thing as an isolated man or woman; we＇re each of us made up of some cluster of appurtenances.What shall we call our ＇self＇? Where does it begin?where does it end? It overflows into everything that belongs to us—and then it 昀ows back again. I know a large part of myself is in the clothes I choose to wear.I＇ve a great respect for things! One＇s self—for other people—is one＇s expression of one＇s self; and one＇s house, one＇s furniture, one＇s garments, the books one reads, the company one keeps—these things are all expressive."