You May Also Like / View all maxioms
The house of every one is to him as his castle and fortress, as
well for his defence against read more
The house of every one is to him as his castle and fortress, as
well for his defence against injury and violence, as for his
repose.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.