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.

Be grateful for the home you have, knowing that at this moment, all you have is all you need.

Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore.

A house is a machine for living in.

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.

Where thou art, that is home.

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.

Housework is what a woman does that nobody notices unless she hasn't done it.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 is where the heart is.

Home is the most popular, and will be the most enduring of all earthly establishments.

He makes his home where the living is best.

"Home" is any four walls that enclose the right person.

There is room in the smallest cottage for a happy loving pair.

A comfortable house is a great source of happiness. It ranks immediately after health and a good conscience.

Home is where there's one to love us.

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.