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.]

And when the day arrives I'll become the sky and I'll become the sea and the sea will come to read more

And when the day arrives I'll become the sky and I'll become the sea and the sea will come to kiss me for I am going home. Nothing can stop me now.

Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore.

Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore.

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.

I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself.

I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself.

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.

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.

I've read in many a novel, that unless they've souls that
grovel--
Folks prefer in fact a hovel read more

I've read in many a novel, that unless they've souls that
grovel--
Folks prefer in fact a hovel to your dreary marble halls.

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.