house [Theme] Page 3
For me, a real home is a home where happiness lives and smells delicious of homemade baked goods: cinnamon, cloves, almonds, nutmeg and vanilla; a house where photographs with smiles hang on the walls, reminiscent of a joyful moment, love and fidelity; a house where sparkling children's laughter sounds, where the tart, sandalwood, subtle aroma of perfume hovers; a house where there are flowers everywhere, where there is a hooligan, red cat, where on the shelves there are only read books and souvenirs brought from distant corners of our huge, wonderful world; a home to which you want to return, no matter where you are, which is now not just a home, but an integral part of you. Sweet home.
It was a chilling, aching, sucking pain of the heart, a joyless emptiness in thoughts, the complete powerlessness of the imagination to adjust the soul to a more sublime way...
A country without heroes is like a house without doors.
We are the defenders of the country!
To the house that I love with all my heart!
When there is a family in this house.
When I had children, I realized how many feelings I had not experienced before. People who don't have children have no idea that they are only experiencing the basics. Love, anger, joy, despair and so on. Chefs say that tomatoes are natural flavor enhancers. Children are like tomatoes, the most powerful sense amplifiers. You understand what unconditional love is, love without conditions, when you love not because, but SO. But at the same time, you experience all the shades of anger and despair. You will learn what absolute joy and complete hopelessness are. You become kinder, much kinder. Very vulnerable. Now, when you listen to the news and they say “one child died as a result of the terrorist attack,” you quickly switch. Just not to hear, just not to know. Previously, the whole world could have died in a terrorist attack, and you wouldn’t have cared. Now it is impossible to imagine any suffering of any child. Neither war, nor illness, nor an orphanage.
Home is the only place you know. And everyone in it is your family.
The south tower trembles and sways, doubts are in my heart...
Birds fly out into wide open spaces, providing a nest for rain and storms. And a person must certainly achieve such spaciousness that he feels his body, along with the whole earth, its air, light, water, fire and the entire population, as his own home.
This house was so old that no one remembered which family built it. Nobody wanted to repair it or keep it clean. This house was like an old, old dog, who was tired of everything in the world, about whom no one cared, so she lived on her own.
Democracy is a house of a thousand floors. On some floors there are beautiful apartments, warm resorts, happy faces, on others there are howitzer shots, black holey windows, frozen homeless people in underground passages. Everyone is for himself, and God is against everyone.
A moment of calm, a moment of silence... This is all that, in fact, an ordinary tired woman needs to wash away. Just so that no one does anything, doesn’t ask about anything, doesn’t tug at trifles, doesn’t turn upside down the house that was returned to its normal position just a minute ago! Just a moment! Just one moment not to be a mother, sister, wife and daughter, cook and cleaner, witch and conspirator. Just a moment to just be... yourself...
My parents' house is my parents' house, and mine is the one I build myself.
A gust of wind preceding a thunderstorm that is about to burst, driving us into the house and also trying to snatch the door handle from our hands, or an acute toothache when it seems that all the troubles, suffering and conflicts of the world are concentrated in your jaw, these are things in the reality and meaning of which we may perhaps someday doubt, but at the moment when we feel them, these things do not allow any doubt and are extremely real.
