Construed as turf, home just seems a provisional claim, a designation you make upon a place, not one it makes read more

Construed as turf, home just seems a provisional claim, a designation you make upon a place, not one it makes on you. A certain set of buildings, a glimpsed, smudged window-view across a schoolyard, a musty aroma sniffed behind a garage when you were a child, all of which come crowding in upon your latter-day senses -- those are pungent things and vivid, even consoling. But to me they are also inert and nostalgic and unlikely to connect you to the real, to that essence art can sometimes achieve, which is permanence.

One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul and yet no one ever come to sit by it. Passersby read more

One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul and yet no one ever come to sit by it. Passersby see only a wisp of smoke from the chimney and continue on the way.

A house that does not have one warm, comfy chair in it is soulless.

A house that does not have one warm, comfy chair in it is soulless.

His native home deep imag'd in his soul.

His native home deep imag'd in his soul.

For the whole world, without a native home,
Is nothing but a prison of larger room.

For the whole world, without a native home,
Is nothing but a prison of larger room.

To make a happy fireside clime
To weans and wife,
That's the true pathos and sublime
read more

To make a happy fireside clime
To weans and wife,
That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life.

For a man's house is his castle.

For a man's house is his castle.

I want a house that has got over all its troubles; I don't want to spend the rest of my read more

I want a house that has got over all its troubles; I don't want to spend the rest of my life bringing up a young and inexperienced house.

The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and read more

The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.