There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home.
In the evaluation of the dominant moods of any historical period it is important to hold fast to the fact that there are always islands of self-sufficient order — on farms and in castles, in homes, studies, and cloisters — where sensible people manage to live relatively lusty and decent lives: as moral as they must be, as free as they may be, and as masterly as they can be. If we only knew it, this elusive arrangement is happiness.
The relationship between man and space is none other than dwelling, strictly thought and spoken.
The sweetest type of heaven is home - nay, heaven is the home for whose acquisition we are to strive the most strongly. Home, in one form and another, is the great object of life. It stands at the end of every day's labor, and beckons us to its bosom; an life would be cheerless and meaningless, did we not discern across the river that divides us from the life beyond, glimpses of the pleasant mansions prepared for us.
Home is the seminary of all other institutions.
We would like only, for once, to get to where we are already.
If the day ever comes when they know who They are, they may know better where they are.
Place and the scale of space must be measured against our bodies and their capabilities.
For a man's house is his castle, et domus sua cuique tutissimum refugium [and one's home is the safest refuge to everyone].
Peace and rest at length have come, All the day's long toil is past; And each heart is whispering, "Home, Home at last!"
Once in his life a man ought to concentrate his mind upon the remembered earth. He ought to give himself up to a particular landscape in his experience; to look at it from as many angles as he can, to wonder upon it, and dwell upon it.
Knowing where and who are intimately linked.
If delight may provoke men's labour, what greater delights is there then to behold the earth as apparelled with plants, as with a robe of imbroidered worke, set with orient pearles, and garnished with great diversitie of rare and costly jewels? The delight is great but the use greater, and joyned often with necessitie.
I have been very happy with my homes, but homes really are no more than the people who live in them.
If ever household affections and loves are graceful things, they are graceful in the poor. The ties that bind the wealthy and the proud to home may be forged on earth, but those which link the poor man to his humble hearth are of the true metal and bear the stamp of heaven.
When men do not love their hearth, nor reverence their thresholds, it is a sign that they have dishonoured both ... Our God is a house-hold God, as well as a heavenly one; He has an altar in every man's dwelling.
No matter under what circumstances you leave it, home does not cease to be home. No matter how you lived there - well or poorly.
There's a strange something, which without a brain Fools feel, and which e'en wise men can't explain, Planted in man, to bind him to that earth, In dearest ties, from whence he drew his birth.
To dwell means to belong to a given place.
The privilege of feeling at home everywhere belongs only to kings, wolves and robbers.
This cabin, Mary, in my sight appears, Built as it has been in our waning years, A rest afforded to our weary feet, Preliminary to - the last retreat.
To know after absence the familiar street and road and village and house is to know again the satisfaction of home.
The impulse for much writing is homesickness. You are trying to get back home, and in your writing you are invoking that home, so you are assuaging the homesickness.
Home is the girl's prison and the woman's workhouse.
Dwelling is not primarily inhabiting but taking care of and creating that space within which something comes into its own and flourishes.
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