I had no books at home. I started to frequent a public library in Lisbon. It was there, with no help except curiosity and the will to learn, that my taste for reading developed and was refined. less than 1 minute read
With the help of a friend I got father into a wagon, when the crowd had gone. I held his head in my lap during the ride home. I believed he was mortally wounded. He had been stabbed down through the kidneys, leaving an ugly wound. less than 1 minute read
The first presentation of my show was given in May, 1883, at Omaha, which I had then chosen as my home. From there we made our first summer tour, visiting practically every important city in the country. less than 1 minute read
My wife was delighted with the home I had given her amid the prairies of the far west. less than 1 minute read
There is one timeless way of building. It is a thousand years old, and the same today as it has ever been. The great traditional buildings of the past, the villages and tents and temples in which man feels at home, have always been made by people who were very close to the center of this way. less than 1 minute read
I’m still that little girl who lisped and sat in the back of the car and threw vegetables at the back of her head when we drove home from the market. That never goes. less than 1 minute read
A house is no home unless it contain food and fire for the mind as well as for the body. less than 1 minute read
At home in L.A., Sunday is lazy. It’s the wife and me lying in bed with coffee, watching ‘The Soup’ or something funny on TiVo. The kid will occasionally join us. Eventually, breakfast is at a place down the street called Paty’s. And we always have some kind of great dinner - my wife makes a great roast beef. less than 1 minute read
