Best 5042 quotes in «house quotes» category

If you are established in the church and focused on Jesus, then you are still among the living

If you wouldn't invite a thief in your house why would you allow a liar in. the only difference between the two is the thief steals your money and objects the liar steals with words by deceit of manipulation by Bonnie Zackson Koury

I have never felt like I was creating anything. For me, writing is like walking through a desert and all at once, poking up through the hardpan, I see the top of a chimney. I know there's a house under there, and I'm pretty sure that I can dig it up if I want. That's how I feel. It's like the stories are already there. What they pay me for is the leap of faith that says: "If I sit down and do this, everything will come out OK.

Imagination is the house where all things happen with everyone's approval.

I have noticed a trend in premature deaths in the people that I know and the presence of streetlights outside of their homes.

I have no house but glad to have a home.

Imagine for a moment that you are the proud owner of a large house which you have spent years of your life painting and decorating and filling with everything you love. It's your home. It's something you've made your own, something for you to be remembered by, something that, perhaps years later, your children and grandchildren can visit and get a view of your life in. It's part of your creativity, your hard work... it's your property. Now suppose you decide to go camping for a couple of weeks. You lock your door and assume that nobody is going to break in... but they do, and when you return home, to your horror you find that not only do these trespassers break in, but they also have quite uniquely imaginative ways of disrespecting, vandalizing and corrupting everything within your property. They light fires on your lawn, your topiary hedges are in heaps of black ashes. There's some blatantly obscene graffiti splattered across your front door, offensive images and rude words splashed on the walls and windows. Your television has been tipped over. Your photographs of family and friends have had the heads cut out of them. There's mold growing in the refrigerator, bottles of booze tipped over on the table, and cigarette smoke embedded into the carpeting. Your beloved houseplants are dead, your furniture has been stripped down and ruined. Basically, the thing you've spent years working for and creating within your lifetime has been tampered with to the point where it is just a grim joke. So, I feel terrible for poor Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Jane Austen and Lewis Carroll, who must be spinning in their graves since they have no rights to their own works of fiction anymore. I'm all for readers being able to read books for free once and only when the deceased author's copyright eventually ends. Still though, did Doyle ever think in a million years that his wonderful characters would be dragged through the mud of every pervy fanfiction that the sick internet geek can think of to create? Did Carroll ever suspect that Alice and the Hatter would become freakish clown-like goth caricatures in Tim Burton's CGI-infested films? Would Austen really want her writing to be sold as badly-formatted ebooks? The sharing of this Public Domain content isn't really an issue. Stories are meant to be told, meant to echo onward forever. That's what makes them magical. That being said, in the Information Age, there's a real lack of respect towards the creators of this original content. If, when I've been dead for 70 years and I then no longer have the rights to my novels, somebody gets the bright idea of doing anything funny with any of those novels, my ghost is going to rise from the grave and do some serious ass-kicking.

I'm going to build that house with my own hands, from the foundation to the roof. I'm going to do it for us, and I'm going to do it right, so it lasts forever. Can't go raising walls on a shaky foundation. Can't go slapping thatch over rafters so thin, they'll topple with the first winter storm. Do you know?" She nodded. "I know." He reached for her hand. "It's the same with us. I mean to build something with you. Something that will last. Much as I want you, I don't want to rush and bollocks it up.

I'm not saying that owning a house makes life into some kind of blissful paradise; simply that it makes the difference between freedom and enslavement.

In contrast to England, half of whose literature seems to revolve around houses and estates, houses and estates being ready extensions of character, America has always found more value in the act of leaving one house for something larger and ostensibly nicer. Fewer and fewer houses remain in a family for more than a generation. They are not passed down ["The Basement,” The Awl, Feb 5, 2015].

In my art history degree course, we did a module on palimpsests—medieval sheets of parchment so costly that, once the text was no longer needed, the sheets were simply scraped clean and reused, leaving the old writing faintly visible through the new. Later, Renaissance artists used the word pentimenti, repentances, to describe mistakes or alterations that were covered with new paint, only to be revealed years or even centuries later as the paint thinned with time, leaving both the original and the revision on view. Sometimes I have a sense that this house—our relationship in it, with it, with each other—is like a palimpsest or pentimento, that however much we try to overpaint Emma Matthews, she keeps tiptoeing back: a faint image, an enigmatic smile, stealing its way into the corner of the frame.

I never left because a part of me will always be in that house...

In many ways, the heart does resemble a house. It is divided into multiple chambers, separated by doors. The walls have a characteristic texture. The house is old, designed over many millennia. Hidden from view are the wires and pipes that keep it functioning. And though the house has no intrinsic meaning, it carries meaning because of the meanings we attribute to it.

In order not to fall into isolation we have to be established in the house of God and focus on serving Him

In one opinion, the house in which you stay, the church you attend and the town in which you reside may not determine the size of your dreams, but they can influence the rate of maturity of what you have planted.

In order to have constant success and prosperity it is very important to be focused not on the success itself but on Jesus Christ

Inside my house, nobody was home, except everybody, but it was easy to feel like those were one and the same.

In united families, they might sleep with half filled stomach but no one sleeps with empty stomach.

I open my eyes. I want to know: what is in the abyss of a kiss? Are stars born in these black caves that house bated breaths and unspoken words? Do our souls crawl on these tender cheeks to greet one another by ivory gates? What happens when we kiss? Where do you go? Don’t tell me. For I have lost my desire to know. Kiss me so that I forget myself. I close my eyes and fall in the abyss.

In your name, the family name is at last because it's the family name that lasts.

I should have asked why any room in the house was better than home to me when she entered it, and barren as a desert when she went out again—why I always noticed and remembered the little changes in her dress that I had noticed and remembered in no other woman’s before—why I saw her, heard her, and touched her (when we shook hands at night and morning) as I had never seen, heard, and touched any other woman in my life?

I realize something. I haven't had a single flashback or panic attack since I stepped inside the house. It's so cut off from the outside world, so cocooned, I feel utterly safe. A line from my favorite movie floats into my head. The quietness and the proud look of it. Nothing very bad could happen to you there.

Isn't it true that a pleasant house makes winter more poetic, and doesn't winter add to the poetry of a house?

It is dangerous to become useless to God

I think of human existence as being like a two-story house. On the rst oor people gather together to take their meals, watch television, and talk. e second oor contains private chambers, bedrooms where people go to read books, listen to music by themselves, and so on. en there is a basement; this is a special place, and there are a number of things stored here. We don’t use this room much in our daily life, but some- times we come in, vaguely hang around the place. en, my thought is that underneath that basement room is yet another basement room. is one has a very special door, very di - cult to gure out, and normally you can’t get in there—some people never get in at all. . . . You go in, wander about in the darkness, and experience things there you wouldn’t see in the normal parts of the house. You connect with your past there, because you have entered into your own soul. But then you come back. If you stay over there for long you can never get back to reality.

It is a really bad idea to let a police officer into your home.

I thought home needed to be tall and luminous, a glowing building with a luxurious setting. Status. What I failed to understand is home is not where I place my head down at night or the color of my furniture. Home is the people I surrounded myself with, the ones I break bread with. The keepers of my secrets and my fears. It is to be loved and to give love without inhibitions.

It is not real," he whispered. "This place is only a thought that has grabbed hold of you. It cannot harm you. You are not of this place, and it has no power over you. You do not need it, nor do you owe it your allegiance." I nodded, listening only to his words and not to the rattling of the windows, which had begun as soon as we stepped inside.

It is not possible for a house to own a spirit without owning windows with flowers!

It's possible to walk out of your house with "local" footsteps, printing them one by one till they go on to make "global" consequences! Go, make a safe journey!

It's still home, Cager, and there's something about home, no matter how untidy we've left it.

It was raining when Rahel came back to Ayemenem. Slanting silver ropes slammed into loose earth, plowing it up like gunfire. The old house on the hill wore its steep, gabled roof pulled over its ears like a low hat.

It was a fairly large house, larger than all our previous dwellings. There were two pinkwashed, picture- windowed, orange gable-roofed storeys, encompassing eight rooms, and an adjoining, presently shuttered garage. A friendly, unsymmetrical house, with pink bougainvillea hanging over the iron-lace decorated, semi-circular front porch and ivy climbing from the walls to the uneven gables.

I want it to be a palace—only I don’t think palaces are very luxurious. They’re so big, so promiscuously public. A small house is the true luxury. A residence for two people only—for my wife and me. It won’t be necessary to allow for a family, we don’t intend to have children. Nor for visitors, we don’t intend to entertain.

I wanted to say a lot but wasn't sure where to start; people don't want to hear about how your heart has melted into the dirt under your house.

Most people who spend their lives are dreaming of having a summer house somewhere in the suburb of their city where they could lie in the hot sun all day long, drinking coffee and juice. They think they are enjoying life, but really they are spending life.

Ma Gonzalo? Oh, il bel nome della vita! una continuità che s'adempie. Di nuovo le sembrò, dal terrazzo, di scorgere la curva del mondo: la spera dei lumi, a rivolversi; tra brume color pervinca disparivano incontro al sopore della notte. Sul mondo portatore di frumenti, e d'un canto, le quiete luminarie di mezza estate. Le sembrò di assistervi ancora, dalla terrazza di sua vita, oh!, ancora per un attimo, di far parte della calma sera. Una levità dolce. E, nel cielo alto, lo zaffiro dell'oceano: che avevano rimirato l'Alvise, a tremare, e Antoniotto di Noli, doppiando capi dalla realità senza nome incontro al sogno apparito degli arcipelaghi. Si sentì ripresa nell'evento, nel flusso antico della possibilità, della continuazione: come tutti, vicina a tutti.

Many a rich man’s bed is bigger than many a poor woman’s bedroom; his bedroom, her house.

Most folks don't have but a few days to a week's worth of food in their houses at any given time. When they run out, they'll have to forage. Only the fools will forage in town. The smart ones will look on the outskirts.

Most people do not mind having a house that is smaller and/or a car that is cheaper than their neighbours’, as long as they each earn and have more money than their neighbours, and, equally important, their neighbours know that.

Minimalism is a way of living at the maximum of your potential.

Money brings about personal convenience rather than personal satisfaction or fulfilment. It will entertain you but it will never give you true peace. Money will buy you the most expensive house but it will never give you a peaceful sleep.

Most people under the influence of the wrong and common belief which says that the sense of man’s life is to grow a tree, build a house and bring up a son

My grandfather used to say ‘It is my house I am paying the bills’, my dad used to say ‘this is my house I pay the mortgage’, my generation is saying this is my house I pay the rent.

No matter how giant and rich you are, if you are isolated you will fall and remain alone in this world

Never invite any kind of spirit to enter either your home or your person. This is an extremely important point to remember. To do so always risks to unwittingly invite evil spirits in, instead. Good spirits never need to be invited in.

No matter how beautiful a house is, without a solid foundation, it is all in vain.

Nell was like a witch. Her long silvery hair rolled into a bun on the back of her head, the narrow wooden house on the hillside in Paddington, with its peeling lemon-yellow paint and overgrown garden, the neighborhood cats that followed her everywhere. The way she had of fixing her eyes so straight on you, as if she might be about to cast a spell.

Nobility is a lie. A pretence that high standing comes from anything more than money or martial prowess. Any dolt can play the noble, and as you'll discover in time, daughter, it's mostly dolts who do.

Nusu dakika baada ya kuondoa gari, Murphy aliona kiwiliwili cha mtu kikimwendea mbio kutokea katika nyumba ya magaidi! Hapohapo alisimamisha gari na kuacha taa zikiwaka, halafu akashika bunduki na kushuka – akiwa ameangalia mbele kwa tahadhari kubwa. Alikuwa mwanamke. Debbie! Murphy alipojua ni Debbie, alitupa bunduki na kuchomoka mbio mpaka wakakutana na kukumbatiana kwa nguvu! Murphy alimbeba Debbie na kumbusu kila sehemu, halafu akamfuta machozi na kumbembeleza.