Quotes About Domesticity

Nobody ever wrote better about domestic things than Robert Benchley.

I don't clean now, because I'm paralyzed. But let me tell you, I would clean. I cleaned, and I ironed. It's my inner femininity.

Why has woman's work never been of any account? Why in every family are the mother and three or four servants obliged to spend so much time at what pertains to cooking? Because those who want to emancipate mankind have not included woman in their dream of emancipation, and consider it beneath their superior masculine dignity to think "of those kitchen arrangements," which they have put on the shoulders of that drudge—woman.

Eventually I had to get up and go downstairs, and there were all the usual chores to do and all the enacting of oneself that living with other people requires

At home she generally avoided doing housework, she went on, because those kinds of chores made her feel so unimportant that she wouldn't have been able to write anything afterwards. She supposed they made her feel like an ordinary woman, when most of the time she didn't think about being a woman, or perhaps didn't even believe she was one, because at home it wasn't a subject that came up.

People want to imagine that I have this amazing life. That I never change nappies, unload the dishwasher or have to wait in for the plumber, and that's OK, but the reality is I do do all these things!

brings domesticity and common sense, and that propriety which every man loves, directly into this hurly-burly, and makes every bully ashamed.

What if the heart, for its own unfathomable reasons, leads one willfully and in a cloud of unspeakable radiance away from health, domesticity, civic responsibility and strong social connections and all the blandly-held common virtues and instead straight towards a beautiful flare of ruin, self-immolation, disaster?

You must, of course, do as you please,' she had remarked. 'But I really think, through all these years, that Mr Crawford has learned to take care of himself. I am sure his unique sense of domestic responsibility will impel him, unswerving, to trace us wherever we go.' Which was precisely the kind of bitchy remark, thought Jerott furiously, that Lymond himself would have made.

Penelope In the pathway of the sun, In the footsteps of the breeze, Where the world and sky are one, He shall ride the silver seas, He shall cut the glittering wave. I shall sit at home, and rock; Rise, to heed a neighbor's knock; Brew my tea, and snip my thread; Bleach the linen for my bed. They will call him brave.

I don't go out much. I have people over, and I cook dinner, or we play the piano, or we watch TV.

There are a lot of women who live with pot-bellied pigs.

Eventually I just want to live a normal life. I want to get married and have children and cook, wash... all the things that I do now. My background is very normal and steady, and that's what I like.

I cook and wash, cook and wash. When I am done, the kitchen is like a mirror.

I'm not the king in my own house. I have to wash the dishes and take out the trash and say, 'Yes, baby.' I'm 6-foot-5, but I kind of walk around hunched over.

I wash my own dishes; I do my own laundry. I'm not a glamorous person at all, not at all.

When I was a young boy, very young boy, mothers didn't work. Women were home, they took care of the house, they washed the dishes and took care of the children. That's what they did, and that's what my mother did.

Before I was married, I had never washed one dish or seen how you fried an egg or baking a potato.

I love caring for my home and family.

As an artist, I've always felt most comfortable outside of the art supply store. So domestic materials are the ones that most help inform what I'm trying to talk about and our familiarity as a whole - kind of the collective us, I guess.

I have a small studio set up in my house in Athens. I'll wake up, have a nice breakfast, and I won't surface until dinnertime. I'm very domesticated in that way.

They were very independent people. They'd always had their own interests, done their own things, but Claire always felt reassured when Paul was close by. Lightbulbs would be changed. Faults would be cleared from the security system. The remote control would be deciphered. Trash would be taken out. Clothes would be folded. Batteries would be charged. Big spoons and little spoons would never mingle in the silverware drawer.

shop-bought cakes are a sign of sluttish housewifery.

She'd had a glimpse of a possible future-the pretty cottage, the garden full of flowers and vegetables, bread in the oven, a bowl of strawberries on the table, the happy baby hitched on her hip while she threw corn to the chickens. It would be like a Hardy novel before it all goes wrong.