house

A foolish man... built his house upon the sand.

He openned the door that he assumed was the garage only to find himself in the pantry.crap."Um . . . grabbing some Pop-Tarts for the road," Nick said, covering his mistake. Still, they both stared at him as if he'd escaped Arkham Asylum. Offering them a fake smile, he grabbed the pastries, crossed himself, and hoped he got the next door correct.Nope. Bathroom.With a pain-filled groan at his rampant stupidity, Nick pretended to use it before he tried again. At least there were only two more doors to go.Fifty-fifty chance.Thankfully, third time was the charm.

You should never leave your "house of bread", under any pretence, whether it is oppression, troubles or hardships.

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

Girl Without HandsWalking through the ruinson your way to workthat do not look like ruinswith the sunlight pouring overthe seen worldlike hail or meltedsilver, that brightand magnificent, each leafand stone quickened and specific in it,and you can't hold it,you can't hold any of it. Distance surrounds you,marked out by the ends of your armswhen they are stretched to their fullest.You can go no farther than this,you think, walking forward,pushing the distance in front of youlike a metal cart on wheelswith its barriers and horizontals.Appearance melts away from you,the offices and pyramidson the horizon shimmer and cease.No one can enter that circleyou have made, that clean circleof dead space you have madeand stay inside,mourning because it is clean.Then there's the girl, in the white dress,meaning purity, or the failureto be any colour. She has no hands, it's true.The scream that happened to the airwhen they were taken offsurrounds her now like an aureoleof hot sand, of no sound.Everything has bled out of her.Only a girl like thiscan know what's happened to you.If she were here she wouldreach out her arms towardsyou now, and touch youwith her absent handsand you would feel nothing, but you would betouched all the same.

You become a house where the wind blows straight through, because no one bothers the crack in the window or lock on the door, and you__e the house where people come and go as they please, because you__e simply too unimpressed to care. You let people in who you really shouldn__ let in, and you let them walk around for a while, use your bed and use your books, and await the day when they simply get bored and leave. You__e still not bothered, though you knew they shouldn__ have been let in in the first place, but still you just sit there, apathetic like a beggar in the desert.

Tinkling sounds came from outside, of hammering and chiselling, as labourers worked like bees, and seven- or eight-storeyed buildings rose in the place of ancestral mansions that had been razed cruelly to the ground, climbing up like ladders through screens of dust. An old mansion opposite the veranda had been repainted white, to its last banister and pillar, so that it looked like a set of new teeth. ... In another sphere altogether, birds took off from a tree or parapet, or the roof of some rich Marwari__ house, startling and speckling the neutral sky. Not a moment was still or like another moment. In a window in a servants_ outhouse attached to a mansion _ both the master__ house and the servants_ lost in a bond now anachronistic and buried _ a light shone even at this time of the day, beacon of winter.

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

Oh, I wish I lived in a caravan!_ said Jimmy longingly. __ow lovely it must be to live in a house that has wheels and can go away down the lanes and through the towns, and stand still in fields at night!

He is on his way to her. In a moment he will leave the wooden sidewalks and vacant lots for the paved streets. The small suburban houses flash by like the pages of a book, not as when you turn them over one by one with your forefinger but as when you hold your thumb on the edge of the book and let them all swish past at once. The speed is breathtaking. And over there is her house at the far end of the street, under the white gap in the rain clouds where the sky is clearing, toward the evening. How he loves the little houses in the street that lead to her! He could pick them up and kiss them! Those one-eyed attics with their roofs pulled down like caps. And the lamps and icon lights reflected in the puddles and shining like berries! And her house under the white rift of the sky! There he will again receive the dazzling, God-made gift of beauty from the hands of its Creator. A dark muffled figure will open the door, and the promise of her nearness, unowned by anyone in the world and guarded and cold as a white northern night, will reach him like the first wave of the sea as you run down over the sandy beach in the dark.

The road to Manderley lay ahead. There was no moon. The sky above our heads was inky black. But the sky on the horizon was not dark at all. It was shot with crimson, like a splash of blood. And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea.

Those who think of their house as only a __achine to live in_ should judge their point of view by that Neolithic man, who also lived in a house, but a house that embodied a cosmology.

That porch is a happy-looking place, and my father - burdened, stoop-shouldered, cadaverously thin - doesn't seem to belong on 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.

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.

Wendy__ house, unlike many in Cape Breton, had three floors, along with a basement and attic. Aside from Wendy__ bedroom, there was a laundry room. The dirty water in the sink would rush from the washer hose, bubbling up, threatening to overflow, but it never did. Next-door was a motel with a neon sign that read in turquoise and pink, __e have the best rates in town!_, but the ___ in __ates_ kept flickering on and off day and night so that every few seconds it would switch to, __e have the best rats in town!

What has happen it will stay here The Seasoning house ( A film which a lot of people should have access).

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