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Home is where the heart is.
— Home
Home is where the heart is.
Sitting with my gin or whisky afterwards I would often manage to get into conversation with some lonely man or other – usually an exile like myself – and the talk would be about the world, air-routes and shipping-lines, drinking-places thousands of miles away. Then I felt happy, felt I had come home, because home to people like me is not a place but all places, all places except the one we happen to be in at the moment.
At length his lonely cot appears in view, To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise an' glee.
Home is home, though it be never so homely.
Judaism recognized the home as being a co-partner with the synagogue in the nurturing of spirituality, and accorded the woman, as primary home-maker, the greatest consideration.
A man is not really a true man until he owns his own home, and they that own their homes are made more honorable and honest and pure, true and economical and careful, by owning the home.
How does it feel, how does it feel? Like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone.
Home is the place where, when you have to go there,They have to take you in.
At night returning, every labour sped,Displays her cleanly platter on the board.
How small of all that human hearts endure,Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.
The whitewash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor,A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day.
My house, my house, though thou art small,Thou art to me the Escurial.
Appeles us'd to paint a good housewife upon a snayl; which intimated that she should be as slow from gadding abroad, and when she went she should carry her house upon her back; that is, she should make all sure at home.
It is for homely features to keep home.They had their name thence.
What you choose to call hell, he calls home.
'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,Which sought through the world is ne'er met with elsewhere.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the force of the Crown. It may be frail, its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storms 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!
A happy home is the single spot of rest which a man has upon this earth for the cultivation of his noblest sensibilities.
Home is where the hatred is Might not be such a bad idea if I never, never went home again.
And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,Forgetting any other home but this.
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
Home is the resortAnd dear relations mingle into bliss.
You can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood, … back home to a young man's dreams of glory and of fame … back home to places in the country, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting but which are changing all the time-back home to the escapes of Time and Memory.
The man who builds, and wants wherewith to pay,Provides a home from which to run away.
No outward doors of a man's house can in general be broken open to execute any civil process; though in criminal cases the public safety supersedes the private.
To make a happy fireside clime Of human life.
I've read in many a novel, that unless they've souls that grovel—Folks prefer in fact a hovel to your dreary marble halls.
My whinstone house my castle is, I have my own four walls.
When the hornet hangs in the holly hock,And dusk, and dew, and home again!
Old homes! old hearts! Upon my soul forever Their peace and gladness lie like tears and laughter.
Home is home, though it be never so homely.
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.
For the whole world, without a native home,Is nothing but a prison of larger room.
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 is a castle which the King cannot enter.
There's nobody at homeAnd father and mother and I.
What if in Scotland's wilds we veil'd our head,By night a blanket, and a plaid by day.
The stately Homes of England, O'er all the pleasant land.
His native home deep imag'd in his soul.
Peace and rest at length have come, Home at last!"
Who hath not met with home-made bread,Home-made by the homely daughters.
The beauty of the house is order,The crown of the house is godliness.
I think some orator commenting upon that fate said that though the winds of heaven might whistle around an Englishman's cottage, the King of England could not.
As a lodge in a garden of cucumbers.
Our law calleth a man's house, his castle, meaning that he may defend himselfe therein.
Cling to thy home! If there the meanest shedMore heart's repose than all the world beside.
Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest; To stay at home is best.
A house of dreams untold, And faces the setting sun.
I in my own house am an emperor,And will defend what's mine.
Far from all resort of mirth,Save the cricket on the hearth.
His home, the spot of earth supremely blest,A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest.
Who has not felt how sadly sweet When far o'er sea or land we roam?
Subduing and subdued, the petty strife,The almost sacred joys of home depend.
'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,Be it ever so humble, there's no place like Home.
Home is where the heart is.
How could I go back to my home? I have people online bragging about putting dead animals through my mailbox. I’ve got some asshole in California who I’ve never talked to hiring a private investigator to stalk me. What am I going to do – go home and just wait until someone makes good on their threats? I’m scared that what it’s going to take to stop this is the death of one of the women who’s been targeted.
My lodging is in Leather-Lane, But the wind and the rain I defy.
Just the wee cot—the cricket's chirr—Love and the smiling face of her.
To fireside happiness, to hours of easeBlest with that charm, the certainty to please.
That is my home of love.
Though home be but homely, yet huswife is taughtThat home hath no fellow to such as have aught.
I read within a poet's book For there the heart can rest.
They dreamt not of a perishable home.
There is no happiness in life, there is no misery like that growing out of the dispositions which consecrate or desecrate a home.
When home is ruled according to God's word, angels might be asked to stay a night with us, and they would not find themselves out of their element.
In the homes of America are born the children of America; and from them go out into American life, American men and women. They go out with the stamp of these homes upon them; and only as these homes are what they should be, will they be what they should be.
The strength of a nation, especially of a republican nation, is in the intelligent and well-ordered homes of the people.
A Christian home! What a power it is to the child when he is far away in the cold, tempting world, and voices of sin are filling his ears, and his feet stand on slippery places.
The spirit and tone of your home will have great influence on your children. If it is what it ought to be, it will fasten conviction on their minds, however wicked they may become.
I never heard my father's or mother's voice once raised in any question with each other; nor saw any angry or even slightly hurt or offended glance in the eyes of either. I never heard a servant scolded, nor even suddenly, passionately, or in any severe manner, blamed; and I never saw a moment's trouble or disorder in any household matter.
It is to Jesus Christ we owe the truth, the tenderness, the purity, the warm affection, the holy aspiration, which go together in that endearing word — home; for it is He who has made obedience so beautiful, and affection so holy; it is He who has brought the Father's home so near, and has taught us that love is of God.
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; and 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.
The home came from heaven. Modeled on the Father's house and the many mansions, and meant the one to be a training place for the other, the home is one of the gifts of the Lord Jesus — a special creation of Christianity.
Keep the home near heaven. Let it face toward the Father's house. Not only let the day begin and end with God, with mercies acknowledged and forgiveness sought, but let it be seen and felt that God is your chiefest joy, His will in all you do the absolute and sufficient reason.
It was Jesus Christ who, ever pointing to joys which do not perish in the using, wedded duty to delight, and re-opening to the Christian family a better paradise — the Father's house — placed the earthly home in the vestibule of heaven.
The ascension of Christ makes heaven seem homelike to us as we journey toward it; for Jesus wears our humanity at the right hand of the Father.
Home and Jesus! The two should be inseparable. Husband and wife need the clasp of that infinite love to keep their hearts true to each other. Parents need the guidance of that infinite wisdom and the power of that infinite strength, to keep them patient and long-suffering and gentle and wise in the training of immortal souls.
How rich this earth seems when we regard it — crowded with the loves of home! Yet I am now getting ready to go home — to leave this world of homes and go home. When I reach that home, shall I even then seek yet to go home? Even then, I believe, I shall seek a yet warmer, deeper, truer home in the deeper knowledge of God — in the truer love of my fellow men. Eternity will be — my heart and my faith tell me — a traveling homeward, but in jubilation and confidence and the vision of the beloved.
Then I said in my heart, "Come home with me, beloved — there is but one home for us all. When we find — in proportion as each of us finds that home, shall we be gardens of delight to each other — little chambers of rest — galleries of pictures — wells of water."
