If I were asked to name the chief benefit of the house, I should say: the house shelters day-dreaming, the house protects the dreamer, the house allows one to dream in peace.
Houses are built to live in, and not to look on: therefore let use be preferred before uniformity.
People's backyards are much more interesting than their front gardens, and houses that back on to railways are public benefactors.
Be grateful for the home you have, knowing that at this moment, all you have is all you need.
There are things you just can't do in life. You can't beat the phone company, you can't make a waiter see you until he's ready to see you, and you can't go home again.
An empty house is like a stray dog or a body from which life has departed.
The place is very well and quiet and the children only scream in a low voice.
Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore.
You are a king by your own fireside, as much as any monarch in his throne.
A man's home is his wife's castle.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail -- its roof may shake -- the wind may blow through it -- the storm may enter -- the rain may enter -- but the King of England cannot enter! -- all his forces dare not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement!
Home -- that blessed word, which opens to the human heart the most perfect glimpse of Heaven, and helps to carry it thither, as on an angel's wings.
We shape our dwellings, and afterwards our dwellings shape us.
There is no place more delightful than one's own fireplace.
In the matter of furnishing, I find a certain absence of ugliness far worse than ugliness.
Going home must be like going to render an account.
A house is a machine for living in.
Nothing annoys a woman more than to have company drop in unexpectedly and find the house looking as it usually does.
Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.
Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb -- or Dome of Worm -- or Porch of Gnome -- or some Elf's Catacomb?
Where thou art, that is home.
Many a man who thinks to found a home discovers that he has merely opened a tavern for his friends.
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.
A house means a family house, a place specially meant for putting children and men in so as to restrict their waywardness and distract them from the longing for adventure and escape they've had since time began.
Housework is what a woman does that nobody notices unless she hasn't done it.
There is no sanctuary of virtue like home.
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, when you have to go there, They have to take you in.
Estate agents. You can't live with them, you can't live with them. The first sign of these nasty purulent sores appeared round about 1894. With their jangling keys, nasty suits, revolting beards, moustaches and tinted spectacles, estate agents roam the land causing perturbation and despair. If you try and kill them, you're put in prison: if you try and talk to them, you vomit. There's only one thing worse than an estate agent but at least that can be safely lanced, drained and surgically dressed. Estate agents. Love them or loathe them, you'd be mad not to loathe them.
He is the happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home.
Be he a king or a peasant, he is happiest who finds peace at home.
One never reaches home, but wherever friendly paths intersect the whole world looks like home for a time.
The worst feeling in the world is the homesickness that comes over a man occasionally when he is at home.
The fellow that owns his own home is always just coming out of a hardware store.
I want a house that has got over all its troubles; I don't want to spend the rest of my life bringing up a young and inexperienced house.
Woman, the more careful she is about her face, the more careless about her house.
It is, indeed, at home that every man must be known by those who would make a just estimate either of his virtue or felicity; for smiles and embroidery are alike occasional, and the mind is often dressed for show in painted honor, and fictitious benevolence.
No money is better spent than what is laid out for domestic satisfaction.
The examples of vice at home corrupt us more quickly and easily than others, since they steal into our minds under the highest authority.
Owning your own home is America's unique recipe for avoiding revolution and promoting pseudo-equality at the same time. To keep citizens puttering in their yards instead of sputtering on the barricades, the government has gladly deprived itself of billions in tax revenues by letting home owners deduct mortgage interest payments.
One returns to the place one came from.
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.
Were I Diogenes, I would not move out of a kilderkin into a hogshead, though the first had had nothing but small beer in it, and the second reeked claret.
I live in my house as I live inside my skin: I know more beautiful, more ample, more sturdy and more picturesque skins: but it would seem to me unnatural to exchange them for mine.
A man's home may seem to be his castle on the outside; inside, it is more often his nursery.
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.
Our country is where ever we are well off.
My home...It is my retreat and resting place from wars, I try to keep this corner as a haven against the tempest outside, as I do another corner in my soul.
Home, the spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest.
The ordinary acts we practice every day at home are of more importance to the soul than their simplicity might suggest.
Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.
If you want a golden rule that will fit everything, this is it: Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.
Home interprets heaven. Home is heaven for beginners.
Home is where the heart is.
Home is the most popular, and will be the most enduring of all earthly establishments.
You can't appreciate home till you've left it, money till it's spent, your wife till she's joined a woman's club, nor Old Glory till you see it hanging on a broomstick on the shanty of a consul in a foreign town.
A hundred men may make an encampment, but it takes a woman to make a home.
He makes his home where the living is best.
It matters less to a person where they are born than where they can live.
Home is any four walls that enclose the right person.
If men lived like men indeed, their houses would be temples -- temples which we should hardly dare to injure, and in which it would make us holy to be permitted to live; and there must be a strange dissolution of natural affection, a strange unthankfulness for all that homes have given and parents taught, a strange consciousness that we have been unfaithful to our fathers honor, or that our own lives are not such as would make our dwellings sacred to our children, when each man would fain build to himself, and build for the little revolution of his own life only.
There is room in the smallest cottage for a happy loving pair.
People usually are the happiest at home.
A comfortable house is a great source of happiness. It ranks immediately after health and a good conscience.
Home is a place not only of strong affections, but of entire unreserved; it is life's undress rehearsal, its backroom, its dressing room, from which we go forth to more careful and guarded intercourse, leaving behind us much debris of cast-off and everyday clothing.
Home is where there's one to love us.
Any woman who understands the problems of running a home will be nearer to understanding the problems of running a country.
We should come home from adventures, and perils, and discoveries every day with new experience and character.
I had three chairs in my house; one for solitude, two for friendship, three for society.
Should not every apartment in which man dwells be lofty enough to create some obscurity overhead, where flickering shadows may play at evening about the rafters?
One may make their house a palace of sham, or they can make it a home, a refuge.
Home is the place where we are treated the best, but grumble the most.
When I can no longer bear to think of the victims of broken homes, I begin to think of the victims of intact ones.
I have been photographing our toilet, that glossy enameled receptacle of extraordinary beauty. Here was every sensuous curve of the human figure divine but minus the imperfections. Never did the Greeks reach a more significant consummation to their culture, and it somehow reminded me, in the glory of its chaste convulsions and in its swelling, sweeping, forward movement of finely progressing contours, of the Victory of Samothrace.
It is the personality of the mistress that the home expresses. Men are forever guests in our homes, no matter how much happiness they may find there.