Where we love is home – home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.
Gardens are the result of a collaboration between art and nature.
An interior is the natural projection of the soul.
I do not want my house to be walled in on all sides and my windows to be stuffed. I want the cultures of all lands to be blown about my house as freely as possible. But I refuse to be blown off my feet by any.
A house is a building. A home is a feeling.
My precept to all who build, is, that the owner should be an ornament to the house, and not the house to the owner.
O’er the glad water of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, Survey our empire, and behold our home!
Then close your eyes and tap your heels together three times. And think to yourself, there’s no place like home.
No matter how dreary and gray our homes are, we people of flesh and blood would rather live there than in any other country, be it ever so beautiful. There is no place like home.
There is no place like home.
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