The size of one’s house might bear a relationship to the size of one’s opinion of oneself, but it had nothing to do with one’s real worth.
We owe it to the fields that our houses will not be the inferiors of the virgin land they have replaced. We owe it to the worms and the trees that the building we cover them with will stand as promises of the highest and most intelligent kinds of happiness.
Houses”-so the Wise Men tell me-
“Mansions”! Mansions must be warm!
Mansions cannot let the tears in,
Mansions must exclude the storm!
“Many Mansions,” by “his Father,”
I don’t know him; snugly built!
Could the Children find the way there-
Some, would even trudge tonight!
Some people will each start investing more of their salary on ‘their’ house and spending less of it on ‘their’ car or cars only when they start being able to take ‘their’ house to work, funerals, weddings, etc.
Lost in the corn rows, I remember feeling just another stalk, and thus this country takes me over in the way I occupy myself when I am well . . . completely – to the edge of both my house and body. No one notices, when they walk by, that I am brimming in the doorways.
Who can ever affirm, or deny that the houses which have sheltered us as children, or as adults, and our predecessors too, do not have embedded in their walls, one with the dust and cobwebs, one with the overlay of fresh wallpaper and paint, the imprint of what-has-been, the suffering, the joy?
You know, there’s no pleasure like the joy of being a sexual woman.
You can take your careers, your money, your houses and possessions, and you go and throw them in a lake.
Because life is really all about sex.
That’s what I keep learning, again and again.
It’s the most important thing, woven into the very centre of life.
And I just know I was put on this earth to be a sexual woman, and to explore as much about sex as I can.
It’s a house. No more and no less. There isn’t a structure on earth that could last forever. But a family goes on.”
Whether it is big or small, the size of a poor man’s yard incessantly reminds him that he is poor.
In France, a chemist named Pilatre de Rozier tested the flammability of hydrogen by gulping a mouthful and blowing across an open flame, proving at a stroke that hydrogen is indeed explosively combustible and that eyebrows are not necessarily a permanent feature of one’s face.