As winter sets in, and the snow descends upon us, we will be spending more time inside, Covid-hibernating. Here, for your reclining, or seated, pleasure: a selection of photographs culled from my archives.
Sofas appear to be the retreat of choice with a few settees and a chaise-lounge added to the mix.
And why, you might ask, not a couch among them?
Well, according to House & Garden, home decorators have unanimously declared: “A couch is only used to lie on when one is in analysis.”
In her famous 1950’s guide to linguistic snobbery, aristocratic author Nancy Mitford set out a list of words that were ‘U’ and ‘non-U.’ The word couch was deemed ‘non U’ — or non upper class.
So hunker down, stay warm and I hope there’s a comfy sofa somewhere in your life.

“Every afternoon I lie down and go to the movies for free. Naps are a great way to kill time. If I have nothing to do I’ll take one. My dreams are so worthwhile.”

Having made a boatload of money on Ship of Fools, Ms. Porter had acquired a beautiful apartment in College Park Maryland — filled with beautiful furniture and a very large crystal chandelier.

Often referred to as England’s eminent gentieman of letters, his library reflected the elegance portrayed in his twelve-volume novel series, A Dance to the Music of Time.

“I am a completely horizontal author. I can’t think unless I’m lying down.”

“Writers all devise ways to approach that place where they expect to make contact, where they become the conduit or where they engage in the mysterious process. For me, light is the signal of transition. It’s being there ‘before’ it arrives. It enables me in some sense.”


“Standing, sitting, or lying down — editing is the same job however you do it. Everything depends on how your back is holding up on any given day. But a good sofa is always a blessing!”

The large beige-shingled Victorian Colonial hybrid became the inspiration for Edgar’s 1975 novel Ragtime.
I’m looking forward to Bruce Weber’s upcoming biography of Doctorow.



Mr. Wilson was not feeling very well when I arrived and was anxious to take a nap. As I was leaving he said, “I feel as though I’ve let you down terribly.”
I told him that he hadn’t at all but perhaps when he was feeling better I could come up to Wellfleet (where he and Elena summered) and take a few pictures there as he had written so much about it. He said that I would be welcome — and his last words to me were,“But I don’t think I’m ever going to be feeling better.”
The man of letters died three months later having returned to the 172-year-old stone house in Talcottville that served as the last setting of his book Upstate.
He was 77 years old.





Nan had edited Atonement and hosted a publication party in honor of her longtime author.

Even Nancy Mitford would be at a loss for words.




An afternoon nap in his office when he returned from lunch was a daily ritual.



“What I love about my cabin — what I always forget that I love until I open the door and step into it — is the absolute quiet. Oh, not the dead silence of a studio. A silence so physical that you gasp for air; and it’s not the allegorical silence of an empty apartment with its creaks and sniffles and traffic, a dull roar below and the neighbors’ muffled treading overhead. No, this is the silence of the world: birds shifting weights on the branches, the branches squeaking against other twigs, the deer hoosching through the woods …. It’s a silence where you can hear your blood in your chest, if you choose to listen.”



The oral historian resting his feet after a long day of conversations with mostly “ordinary” people discussing their lives.


The master-showman magician, actor, scholar, special effects consultant and author was dubbed “the most gifted sleight-of-hand artist alive.”






Comfy sofa notwithstanding, the English novelist was quite content to sit on the floor.



“When I wrote Gentlemen Prefer Blondes in 1925 I didn’t know I was writing up the culture of the twenties. Years later I found out I had written about a certain lifestyle and I suppose you could call that history.”
Asked why she continued to get up at four every morning and start writing, Ms. Loos replied: “My publisher gave me a big advance — that’s all. I write for money. Writing is the only racket I know.”