Quotes About Domesticity

She sashayed into the kitchen like she lived there, and grabbed two glasses from the counter, rinsed them in the sink, all very domestic. His eyes strayed to her breasts. "You came to do dishes?" "I came to come." She winked, smiling from ear to ear. "Gotta appreciate a straight-talking woman.

My sons have all grown now, so I'm down from five washers to one, but one takes just as long.

She felt quite friendly to her husband. He never struck her. He never abused her. He always gave her exactly the same sum of money every Saturday, whatever receipts the shop brought in. He didn't drink. He praised her cooking. But on the other hand—oh, how happy she always was when he was well out of the way and she was left alone!

I cook and do my own laundry.

My mother brought me up to be respectable," she said. "She never let me near the scullery, or the kitchen either." "I don't believe this!" Peter said. "Why is it respectable not to know how to do things? Is it respectable to light a fire with a bar of soap?

We used to manage quite well when she was away sitting for artists, because in those days we lived mostly on bread, vegetables and eggs; but now that we can afford some meat or even chickens, I keep coming to grief. I scrubbed some rather dirty-looking chops with soap which proved very lingering, and I did not take certain things out of a chicken that I ought to have done.

O mais feroz dos animais domésticos é o relógio de parede. Conheço um que já devorou três gerações da minha família.

the floor was always clean, the tables gleaming. The ashes vanished from the fireplace, the dishes washed themselves, and the firewood regrew overnight. In the pantry there were jars of oil and wine, bowls of cheese and barley-grain, always fresh and full.

My ward had arisen. She had slept so hard her eyes looked puffy, but she had acquainted herself with the equipment in my stainless steel galley, and she wore a pretty cotton dress, which hung just a little loosely on her, and she had taken two generous steaks out of the locker and set them out to thaw. She seemed a little more aware of the situation, shyly aware that she might be a nuisance.

Agnes cannot see the point of sweeping the floor. It just gets dirty again. Cooking food seems similarly pointless. She cooks it, they eat it and then, later on, they eat more.

Para qué sirve la mujer de su casa? Reflexiones de un filósofo": Una mujer de su casa, lo que se denomina así en todo el mundo civilizado, es un producto estúpido que no sirve para nada de lo que un hombre inteligente necesita en la vida, resumía el ignoto pensador, que firmaba José Lorenzo.

The house was clean, scrubbed and immaculate, curtains washed, windows polished, but all as a man does it - the ironed curtains did not hang quite straight and there were streaks on the windows and a square showed on the table when a book was moved.

Virtue was no longer sought in temple or market place but in the home—one's own home, and then the homes of one's friends.

Home is the girl's prison and the woman's workhouse.

A woman should be home with the children, building that home and making sure there's a secure family atmosphere.

Housekeeping, to her, was a way to cultivate a woman's submission and steal time, and she wanted nothing of it.

Do you know what the word "domestic" means? The heart of domesticity is a devotion to home life. It's having a heart for the home.

I never married because there was no need. I have three pets at home which answer the same purpose as a husband. I have a dog which growls every morning, a parrot which swears all afternoon, and a cat that comes home late at night.

I never married because I have three pets at home that answer the same purpose as a husband. I have a dog that growls every morning, a parrot that swears all afternoon and a cat that comes home late at night.

Surely a pretty woman never looks prettier than when making tea.

I'M SCURRYING AROUND THE HOUSE, TRYING TO DECIDE WHAT I should pack (cloth diapers, knitted booties, cotton jumpers?) and what I should leave behind (cloth diapers, knitted booties, cotton jumpers?) when I'm stopped in my tracks by the lowing and braying of the animals in the barn.

A woman should be home with the children, building that home and making sure there's a secure family atmosphere.

Look, you're a lot of things to me—but a dog? Not one of them." I whisper, "What am I to you?" He stares at me a long time. "Sometimes you're my mom—but a good one that doesn't lie. Sometimes you're my frickin' wife—with your folded laundry and fried

I am very thankful that man took one look at me showing with a baby coming along, with my hair falling down, and the broom lying at a mound of broken glass, and supper boiling over on the stove, April wearing a dirty pinafore screaming for me to hold her, and just then the baby in my arms spit up all over me, and he said, You know . . .I'd be kindly obliged if you'd let me have supper some other time.