Collect words, not tchotchkes

In a Homeric sense, to speak is to pick out, choose, gather, collect, enumerate. So, of the words I shall now gather here, should they be the little branches to kindle a warming fire around the heart, or words that snap and crackle?
If I am going to gather and collect, I would prefer a collection of thoughts and values to a physical collection that I could display, regardless of how thoughtfully or adventurously obtained. It is interesting to consider what we collect during our lives, especially since what is collected must be put somewhere.
In Western cultures, people are generally given to collections, which are often stored in large edifices. But some cultures consist of more sheep than buildings, and are cozily diminutive.
The latter would hardly attract an ambitious, worldly person - because ambition, today, is expansive and looks to envelope cultural products and house them in ever-growing spaces. The space has surpassed the hearth, and contains rooms for eating, rooms for sitting and watching TV, and 'spare rooms'. From the perspective of such expanses, what is "cozy" is primitive, and too close for comfort. Never mind that the little house is a sign of our humanity: exposed to the elements, accommodating others' disparate, intimate habits.
The little house is a source of stories. As it can only provide the bare minimum, the inhabitants are often in need. Which ain't so bad: after all, necessity is the mother of invention.
Diogenes reduced his needs to the bare minimum, living in a barrel. He understood how easily we over- complicate matters. For example, most cooking shows elevate food to beyond the level of serving the purpose of nourishment. Excess is not the mother of invention, but complication. Similarly, modern cars take away the experience of driving: there is no motor sound, no effort involved in rolling down the windows. This is excess in transporation - the emphasis is on having arrived, and not the journey. It deprives us of the bumps in the road that let us know we are driving. To deny process is to complicate matters by hiding the method to success. Also, "comfort" that denies "cozy" blinds us to who we are: little, fragile creatures.
We can see our flawed nature in the Persian rugs, with their planned imperfections. We all know there is another way, like wabi sabi, whereby we should leave well enough alone when gardening, and let the trees we've caringly planted have their own way, too. If only we were to understand that the heavens bend to us and our perspective when we are not acting big. Just like in a Bruegel pastoral, the expanse is great, but it is still commensurate to the varied, individual peasants.
I have collected here a small and simple house of words. Is it splendid enough for your taste?

Elements: lace brushes: Project Gimp BC; envelope: pugly pixel;

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