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Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.
Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.
Be grateful for the home you have, knowing that at this moment, all you have is all you need.
Be grateful for the home you have, knowing that at this moment, all you have is all you need.
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.
He is the happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home
He is the happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home
A comfortable house is a great source of happiness. It ranks immediately after health and a good conscience.
A comfortable house is a great source of happiness. It ranks immediately after health and a good conscience.
I am far frae my hame, an' i'm weary aften whiles,
For the longed-for hame-bringing an' my Father's welcome read more
I am far frae my hame, an' i'm weary aften whiles,
For the longed-for hame-bringing an' my Father's welcome smiles.
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.
Home is the girl's prison and the woman's workhouse.
Home is the girl's prison and the woman's workhouse.
