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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.
My whinstone house my castle is,
I have my own four walls.
My whinstone house my castle is,
I have my own four walls.
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.
His native home deep imag'd in his soul.
His native home deep imag'd in his soul.
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.
The strength of a nation derives from the integrity of the home.
The strength of a nation derives from the integrity of the home.
The house a woman creates is a Utopia. She can't help it -- can't help trying to interest her nearest read more
The house a woman creates is a Utopia. She can't help it -- can't help trying to interest her nearest and dearest not in happiness itself but in the search for it.
Home is home, though it be never so homely.
Home is home, though it be never so homely.
