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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.
Home is the place where it feels right to walk around without shoes
Home is the place where it feels right to walk around without shoes
There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort.
There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort.
Christmas... is not an external event at all, but a piece of one's home that one carries in one's heart.
Christmas... is not an external event at all, but a piece of one's home that one carries in one's heart.
A man builds a fine house; and now he has a master, and a task for life: he is to read more
A man builds a fine house; and now he has a master, and a task for life: he is to furnish, watch, show it, and keep it in repair, the rest of his days.
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.
Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to
Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to
When the hornet hangs in the holly hock,
And the brown bee drones i' the rose,
And read more
When the hornet hangs in the holly hock,
And the brown bee drones i' the rose,
And the west is a red-streaked four-o'clock,
And summer is near its close--
It's--Oh, for the gate, and the locust lane;
And dusk, and dew, and home again!