God created women and women created the hearth.
The hearth in our house is warmer than our neighbor's.
He who has a stepmother has the devil at his hearth.
See that your own hearth is swept before you lift your neighbor's ashes.
[first lines] Jiminy Cricket: [after singing "When You Wish Upon a Star"] Pretty, huh? I'll bet a lot of you folks don't believe that, about a wish comin' true, do ya? Well, I didn't, either. Of course, I'm just a cricket singing my way from hearth t...
The real theater of the sex war is the domestic hearth.
The simple hearth of the small farm is the true center of our universe.
Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your hearth or burn down your house, you can never tell.
To be admitted to Nature's hearth costs nothing. None is excluded, but excludes himself. You have only to push aside the curtain.
Experience teaches that the fire of mental grief is intensified by being confined to its own hearth.
No longer will we (women) agree to protect the hearth at the price of extinguishing the fire within ourselves.
What is a woman that you forsake her And the hearth fire and the home acre To go with that old grey widow-maker?
Indigenous foods die when no one learns to cook them.
In the Scottish Orkneys, the little stone houses with their single large room and central hearth had an extraordinary range of built-in furniture.
A whim, a passing mood, readily induces the novelist to move hearth and home elsewhere. He can always plead work as an excuse to get him out of the clutches of bothersome hosts.
We remember though all the firelit glow Of a great hearth's gleam and glare, And we looked for a space at each happy face And the love that was written there.
One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul and yet no one ever came to sit by it. Passers-by see only a wisp of smoke from the chimney and continue on their way.
Modernity has abandoned the household gods, not because we have rejected the idolatry as all Christians must, but because we have rejected the very idea of the household. We no longer worship Vesta, but have only turned away from her because our home...
Not for her the cruel, delicate luxury of choice, the indolent, cat-and-mouse pastimes of the hearth-rug. No Penelope she; she must hunt in the forest.
Remember why we live. Remember warmth, remember good food. Remember friends, and song, and evenings spent around the hearth.
Some Critics on the Hearth are not only good-natured, but have rather too high, or, if that is impossible, let us say too pronounced, an opinion of the abilities of their literary friends.
