You May Also Like / View all maxioms
When the hornet hangs in the holly hock,
And the brown bee drones i' the rose,
And read more
When the hornet hangs in the holly hock,
And the brown bee drones i' the rose,
And the west is a red-streaked four-o'clock,
And summer is near its close--
It's--Oh, for the gate, and the locust lane;
And dusk, and dew, and home again!
Estate agents. You can't live with them, you can't live with them. The first sign of these nasty purulent sores read more
Estate agents. You can't live with them, you can't live with them. The first sign of these nasty purulent sores appeared round about 1894. With their jangling keys, nasty suits, revolting beards, moustaches and tinted spectacles, estate agents roam the land causing perturbation and despair. If you try and kill them, you're put in prison: if you try and talk to them, you vomit. There's only one thing worse than an estate agent but at least that can be safely lanced, drained and surgically dressed. Estate agents. Love them or loathe them, you'd be mad not to loathe them.
Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.
Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.
A house is made of walls and beams; a home is built with love and dreams.
A house is made of walls and beams; a home is built with love and dreams.
My home is in Heaven. I\'m just traveling through this world.
My home is in Heaven. I\'m just traveling through this world.
What if in Scotland's wilds we viel'd our head,
Where tempests whistle round the sordid bed;
Where read more
What if in Scotland's wilds we viel'd our head,
Where tempests whistle round the sordid bed;
Where the rug's two-fold use we might display,
By night a blanket, and a plaid by day.
There's nobody at home
But Jumping Joan,
And father and mother and I.
There's nobody at home
But Jumping Joan,
And father and mother and I.
There is no place more delightful than one's own fireside.
[Lat., Nullus est locus domestica sede jucundior.]
There is no place more delightful than one's own fireside.
[Lat., Nullus est locus domestica sede jucundior.]
Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to
Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to
