“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(Last night when I got home, I saw that the young fellow Frank Longwell has put me in touch with to do the lawn had done his job; the place looked great. [...]

[...] This was the one who called her up while we lived together; he was old and living in a retirement home south of Pennsylvania, I believe. [...]

[...] Play could also be used even in old peoples’ homes, for it could revive feelings of spontaneity and give the conscious mind a rest from worrying.

[...] I brought home a couple of smallish pieces. [...]

[...] The rain had stopped by the time I left at 7:15; the drive home was uneventful, although I took it easy. [...]

[...] “Your notes don’t show it for last night, but I was right, but I was highly upset at that hospital experience,” she said, meaning the experience at St. Joseph’s. “Boy, I was so glad to see you and get home....” [...]

[...] The finger that has so upset you both (Long pause at 8:37, leaning to her right, dozing....) I keep trying to explain the magical approach in new ways, to bring home its great effectiveness. [...]

[...] In your mind you see yourself (A) saying no and staying home, (B) saying no and going somewhere else instead, or (C) saying yes and keeping the engagement. [...]

[...] Before he realizes what is happening, he might actually feel himself leave his home and embark upon those probable actions that physically he has chosen not to perform.

[...] If God could tell a man to slay a son, and if private revelation were granted validity, then “divinely inspired crimes” might not only be legion, but might also take man’s energies away from accepted Godly pursuits—like fighting the infidels or heretics at home (all louder).

[...] He does not need, therefore, to have symptoms to force himself to stay at home. [...]

[...] The dark-haired young man was trying to talk me into displaying some of my smaller paintings in the room in his funeral home where guests were seated for viewings, etc. [...] I wanted the paintings to be priced so people might buy them, but he said that wouldn’t be proper in a funeral home. [...]

[...] A lot of patients will be going home over the holidays, Georgia said, and those remaining, like Jane, would be moved elsewhere. [...]

Later, when he returned home, he learned that he must toe the mark again, or Welfare would put him in another home. [...]

[...] He was then sent to a home. [...]

(“Did you expect my father to go back home?” I meant: what did Seth think of my father going back home to live under mother’s care, from the hospital, instead of going to a nursing home, as we had all thought quite possible.)

[...] (Pause.) When he goes to see your father he feels guilty because he is not seeing his mother, who is also in a home. He feels that your mother is gloating, having gotten rid of the father, and he is afraid of your family home for fear it might trap you both. [...]

[...] Jane at break asked me to take down an oil painting of hers that, she said, represented her childhood home on Middle Avenue in Saratoga Springs, New York. [...]

[...] You never decided, you see, that this would be your home, for any (underlined) amount of time.

Leonard made a home here, and Ruburt for all of his disdain with Leonard’s taste, was furious at taking Leonard’s discard. [...]

[...] Most of your contacts are professional; you both work at home. [...]

Your mother’s home would not have served your purposes, yours or Ruburt’s. I tell you that so that you realize you did not make a mistake.

As I suppose is almost always the case with tourists in romantic, faraway places, we had many ties back home. Although Jane’s father, and my own, had died the previous year (in 1971), our mothers were still living: Jane’s in a nursing home in upstate New York, and mine at the Butts family home in Sayre, Pennsylvania, which is only 18 miles from Elmira and just south of the New York State border. [...]

[...] Jane’s mother was to die within three months of our return home, mine over a year later (in November 1973).

An amphitheater in evening, early evening, before trip home.

[...] He also turned down rather coldly the man’s innocent enough invitation that you visit his home. [...]

[...] It should also help to still his frequent tirades at home against the gallery; but when his emotions do overflow or have overflown into speech, it has been beneficial, very much more so than if he had let them build up into a storm of frightening proportions.

[...] It would do no harm to invite the man for a drink in your home, though I admit that to either of you the suggestion amounts to a treason of sorts. [...]

[...] He did tell them he had an apartment in Denver, CO, but obviously no local agency was going to pay to transport him back home; we’d wondered about that, too. [...]

[...] We arrived home March 2, bleary from five days of driving. [...]

This causes many people to feel as if they were travelers in some strange land—but instead of receiving intimate letters from home, they receive only stylized postcard pictures, that do not bear any resemblance to the home they vaguely remember. [...]

I will now say good evening so that you may all go home and go to bed and have some real experiences. [...]

Now, I will close so you can go home and read the whole book all over again. [...]

[...] We speculated that we’d “homed in on it” now, as if for the first time, because our combined focus was opening up in the direction of homes.

(From the outside only, Jane and I inspected several homes in Elmira. [...]

[...] A man might imagine that fatherhood meant providing an excellent home and income. [...]

[...] A man of letters, for instance, at the age of 40 suddenly remembers his old love of carpentry, reads do-it-yourself manuals, and begins his own home repairs. [...]

During this time also Jane’s mother, Marie, lost her home in Saratoga Springs, NY, and was placed in a state-run nursing home in nearby Middle Grove. [...] Later the nursing home was closed by the state. [...]

[...] When I came home from the hospital for the last time in a year and 9 months, John went to Jane’s room 330 and very carefully gathered up all of the belongings and artifacts we had accumulated there and brought them to me in 1730: my paintings and drawings, the letters from readers that I had put up on the walls (the hospital never complained), the session notebooks for The Way Toward Health, our books and magazines and newspapers and clothes, the flowers and other gifts from readers and from some of the nurses—all of those things that seem to accumulate almost by themselves as one seeks to create a home wherever that may be.

[...] I felt protective toward them; both of my younger brothers had left home, and one had married. [...]

[...] Ed added that a few days later, on Saturday night, the Zehs were to join a gathering of friends at his and Ella’s home in Schuylerville.

[...] Now this self-denial began in the Catholic home, and he was peculiarly prone to accept it. [...] (Jane spent over a year in such a home while her mother was hospitalized for arthritis.)

He was offered a ride home and cashed his check. [...]