It is such a secret place, the land of tears.
The whole world is my native land.
Property is organized robbery.
As soon as the land of any country has all become private property, the landlords, like all other men, love to reap where they never sowed, and demand a rent even for its natural produce.
Private property was the original source of freedom. It still is its main bulwark.
he slogan of the National Association of Landlords is the commaless "We Shelter You America." The truth of the matter is, however, that landlords shelter no one, while in fact the law shelters them... from the immediate expropriation that would occur if there were not force of gun and jail to back up this phoney, abusive, so-called property right.
O lands! O all so dear to me -- what you are, I become part of that, whatever it is.
The river with its mask of trees cut a twisting path down through the valley. Two miles away he could see, beside a gigantic lonely oak, the white speck of his tent pitched and left while he went to record his homestead. A long time he sat there. AS he looked into the valley, Joseph felt his body flushing with a hot flluid of love. "This is mine," he said simply, and his eyes sparkled with tears and his brain was filled with wonder that this should be his. There was pity in him for the grass and the flowers; he felt that the trees were his children and the land his child. For a moment he seemed to float high in the air and to look down upon it. "It's mine," he said again, " and I must take care of it.
When one jumps over the edge, one is bound to land somewhere.
The land shall not be sold for ever: for the land is mine; for ye are strangers and sojourners with me.
My body and spirit are the only things that truly belong to me.
The best investment on earth is earth.
Each hamlet or village or town should be a place, its own place. This is not a matter of fake historicism or artsy-craftsy architecture. It is a matter of respect for things existing, subtle patterns of place woven from vistas and street widths and the siting and color and scale of stores, houses, and trees.... If the countryside is to prosper, it must be different from city or suburb.... The difference is in part the simple business of containing our towns and giving them boundaries.
Awake! the land is scattered with light, and see, Uncanopied sleep is flying from field and tree.
Somewherein desolate wind-swept space In Twilight-landin No-mans land Two hurrying Shapes met face to face, And bade each other stand.
If a man be gracious and courteous to strangers, it shows he is a citizen of the world, and that his heart is no island cut off from other lands, but a continent that joins to them.
All are kings of this land.
Polo sheets is what I lands on.
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