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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... Options
Daemon
Posted: Thursday, May 1, 2014 12:00:00 AM
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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.

Jerome K. Jerome (1859-1927)
jacobusmaximus
Posted: Thursday, May 1, 2014 9:56:21 AM

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I wonder if Jerome finally realised his ambition. Perhaps he was fortunate enough to find a house old enough to be beyond settlement and shrinkage defects but young enough not to need modifications to accommodate changing domestic technologies and fashions. Unlikely, I would have thought. Put a woman in a house and call it Trouble.
Bully_rus
Posted: Thursday, May 1, 2014 10:11:47 AM
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Location: Minsk, Minskaya Voblasts', Belarus
If you don't like troubles it doesn't mean that they would leave you alone even in a very comfortable house.
Pieter_Hove
Posted: Thursday, May 1, 2014 10:58:40 AM

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Location: Uccle, Brussels Capital Region, Belgium
Home is where your heart is. We are no nomads (anymore). So we better take care of the housing we are living in. Having some comfort. Cleaning up regularly. Being in quiet, but also inviting someone at due times. In other words: we can want all we imagine, but: it has to come from ourselves, too, and not only from bricks and architecture.


Daemon wrote:
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.

Jerome K. Jerome (1859-1927)
monamagda
Posted: Thursday, May 1, 2014 11:17:25 AM

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This quote is from Jerome Klapka Jerome's work "They an I" A beautiful history about a father and his three children who purchased a house in the country, after have left his house in the city, the father is the narrator of the history in a very comic way. I recommended.
This quote appears in Chapter II Read the book here: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/2437/2437-h/2437-h.htm

“Personally, I should have liked a house where something had happened. I should have liked, myself, a blood-stain—not a fussy blood-stain, a neat unobtrusive blood-stain that would have been content, most of its time, to remain hidden under the mat, shown only occasionally as a treat to visitors. I had hopes even of a ghost. I don’t mean one of those noisy ghosts that doesn’t seem to know it is dead. A lady ghost would have been my fancy, a gentle ghost with quiet, pretty ways. This house—well, it is such a sensible-looking house, that is my chief objection to it. It has got an echo. If you go to the end of the garden and shout at it very loudly, it answers you back. This is the only bit of fun you can have with it. Even then it answers you in such a tone you feel it thinks the whole thing silly—is doing it merely to humour you. It is one of those houses that always seems to be thinking of its rates and taxes.”

“Any reason at all for your having bought it?” asked Dick.

“Yes, Dick,” I answered. “We are all of us tired of this suburb. We want to live in the country and be good. To live in the country with any comfort it is necessary to have a house there. This being admitted, it follows we must either build a house or buy one. I would rather not build a house. Talboys built himself a house. You know Talboys. When I first met him, before he started building, he was a cheerful soul with a kindly word for everyone. The builder assures him that in another twenty years, when the colour has had time to tone down, his house will be a picture. At present it makes him bilious, the mere sight of it. Year by year, they tell him, as the dampness wears itself away, he will suffer less and less from rheumatism, ague, and lumbago. He has a hedge round the garden; it is eighteen inches high. To keep the boys out he has put up barbed-wire fencing. But wire fencing affords no real privacy. When the Talboys are taking coffee on the lawn, there is generally a crowd from the village watching them. There are trees in the garden; you know they are trees—there is a label tied to each one telling you what sort of tree it is. For the moment there is a similarity about them. Thirty years hence, Talboys estimates, they will afford him shade and comfort; but by that time he hopes to be dead. 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.”

“But why this particular house?” urged Robin, “if, as you say, it is not the house you wanted.”

“Because, my dear girl,” I answered, “it is less unlike the house I wanted than other houses I have seen. When we are young we make up our minds to try and get what we want; when we have arrived at years of discretion we decide to try and want what we can get. It saves time. During the last two years I have seen about sixty houses, and out of the lot there was only one that was really the house I wanted. Hitherto I have kept the story to myself. Even now, thinking about it irritates me. It was not an agent who told me of it. I met a man by chance in a railway carriage. He had a black eye. If ever I meet him again I’ll give him another. He accounted for it by explaining that he had had trouble with a golf ball, and at the time I believed him. I mentioned to him in conversation I was looking for a house. He described this place to me, and it seemed to me hours before the train stopped at a station. When it did I got out and took the next train back. I did not even wait for lunch. I had my bicycle with me, and I went straight there. It was—well, it was the house I wanted. If it had vanished suddenly, and I had found myself in bed, the whole thing would have seemed more reasonable. The proprietor opened the door to me himself. He had the bearing of a retired military man. It was afterwards I learnt he was the proprietor.
seemo74
Posted: Thursday, May 1, 2014 11:22:54 AM

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Wise saying .
Dr. Mohammed Albadri
Posted: Thursday, May 1, 2014 12:10:00 PM

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Joined: 1/6/2014
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Location: Baghdad, Mayorality of Baghdad, Iraq
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