"Can I stay?" the poet asked. "Stay for a while and try to learn some truths?"
The mathematician nodded. Then he looked concerned. "The food is a bit dull. Nothing grows here; once a month, someone comes up from the lowlands and brings me onions and potatoes and beans and milk."
"Do you like it here?" she asked. She didn't understand why anyone would stay where it was so cold.
"It's quiet. I need it to be quiet," the mathematician said. "So I can think properly."
The poet nodded. She could understand that. "It's fine about the food."