this is part of a speech given by e m forster to the congres international des ecrivains in in paris in 1935. he could have given it in london in 2014 and it would have been just as relevant (thank you to my wife, sos eltis, for pointing this out to me while trawling through the outer reaches fo forster's writings):
in an idle moment i did a wordle of the novel i'm writing. it seems to convey absolutely no information whatsoever except that it is in english and set neither in space nor the jungles of brazil. but it does confirm that houses always loom large in my writing. i am, after all, the son of an architect.
actually, the word "fire" is quite big.