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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.
For the whole world, without a native home,
Is nothing but a prison of larger room.
For the whole world, without a native home,
Is nothing but a prison of larger room.
At length his lonely cot appears in view,
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;
Th' expectant read more
At length his lonely cot appears in view,
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;
Th' expectant wee-things, toddling, stacher thro'
To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise an' glee.
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.
The worst thing about work in the house or home is that whatever you do is destroyed, laid waste or read more
The worst thing about work in the house or home is that whatever you do is destroyed, laid waste or eaten within twenty four hours.
What the Nation must realize is that the home, when both parents work, is non-existent. Once we have honestly faced read more
What the Nation must realize is that the home, when both parents work, is non-existent. Once we have honestly faced that fact, we must act accordingly.
When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that read more
When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home.
How small of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure!
read more
How small of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure!
Still to ourselves in every place consigned,
Our own felicity we make or find.
With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.
