Best 49 quotes in «homesick quotes» category

She was right. The purebred girls were making mistakes on purpose, in order to give us an advantage. 'King me,' I growled, out of turn. 'I say king me!' and Felicity meekly complied. Beulah pretended not to mind when we got frustrated with the oblique, fussy movement from square to square and shredded the board to ribbons. I felt sorry for them. I wondered what it would be like to be bred in captivity, and always homesick for a dimly sensed forest, the trees you've never seen.

With me and India it's all about leaving and returning. Madras is home. It's a very complicated relationship. When you are away too long you get homesick, and when you are there too long you are sick of home.

...that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn’t know who I was—I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I’d never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn’t know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn’t scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost. I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future, and maybe that’s why it happened right there and then, that strange red afternoon.

The Germans are sentimental. Their word Heimweh. The English say homesick; the same in plain Swedish. Hemsjuk. Leave it to the Germans to pull out, like some endless elastic belt of horrible sweetness, all that molasses woe.

The Marquis stepped between Richard and Door. 'You can't go back to your old home or your old job or your old life,' he said to Richard almost gently. 'None of those things exist. Up there, you don't exist.' They had reached a junction: a place where three tunnels came together. Door and Hunter set off along one of them, the one that no water was coming down, and they did not look back. The Marquis lingered. 'You'll just have to make the best of it down here,' he said to Richard, 'in the sewers and the magic and the dark.

This is the bottom of the shit heap this city. They can keep their Boys From the Blackstuff and Derek Hatton. I'd die in a place like this after growing up in London. I mean, London's shit, but it's home and nothing like Liverpool. This city has to be the arsehole of England. I don't blame Yosser Hughes for nutting everything in sight. I'd have done the same.

You know, I tried not to think of this place. I tried to let it go. To leave it behind. But it always came back to me, in my dreams. I'd dream about these details, these objects and people and places I'd left behind, and I'd wake up crying.

She is so soft with the scars But it's time for her to bloom To grow To stay in the light Though she is homesick for someone Who is so far away

There are many sadnesses in the hearts of men who are far away from their countries.

Very good,” she lied. Zoe had learned not to burden loved ones with God’s unwanted children. She had come to America with her gigantic hopes, intending to save money and rescue the sisters who had once rescued her. She wasn’t trying to save the world--just them.

You will find yourself wanting to leave and go home at the same time, and there is nothing you can do about this.

After I've been in America for a while, I get homesick for Scotland.

I lived in New Mexico until I was seventeen, and honestly I've been homesick ever since I left.

I do not have any home. So why should I be homesick?

I'm homesick. But I cannot go back to Syria. I lost everything. And I'm against the Syrian regime, so there is no way to go back. I'm really homesick.

I've been homesick for countries I've never been, and longed to be where I couldn't be.

In the fullness of artistic life there is, and remains, and will always come back at times, that homesick longing for the truly ideal life that can never come true.

Russia is the only country of the world you can be homesick for while you're still in it.

Obviously, you've spent some time in New York. I moved there and it was a bit much. It was a bit overwhelming for me. I didn't want to go out. I just felt a little homesick. I was just waiting to feel excited about something. I went through a phase of feeling kind of dull. It's really easy to shut off in New York and stay in your apartment.

"Subterranean Homesick Blues" [of Bob Dylan] captures, in word-salad format, life in an encroaching police state.

One's homesickness for Heaven finds at least an inn there; and it's an inn on the right road.

Wake up and ponder the future

The hardest novel to write was Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant.

We are homesick most for the places we have never known.

There's a lot of landscape I never would have described if I hadn't been homesick. The impulse was nostalgia.

Cricket’s voice broke through Thomas’s memory. He was reading a letter, most likely from his mother. He was trying hard to hide it, but he was tearing up. “Captain I don’t want to be here,” was all he could choke out. Thomas reached over and gave Cricket’s shoulder a tight squeeze.

We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known.

But it wasn't the right season to lift off. Not yet. I sat in my apartment and looked out over the city, and I just didn't feel any passion to write about the place. I didn't give a damn about local politics; I wasn't moved by the issues. I missed home. And I was frustrated by people who actually thought the world was a centre and that centre was here. ‘The world's a sphere, everyone,’ I wanted to say. ‘The centre of a sphere doesn't lie on its surface. Look up the word 'superficial', when you have a chance.

Do nomads get homesick...

Gets silly after a while, don't it, hating something because you're mad at something else, you think? (Sylvanus) ——— It's like we went into hibernation after we moved to Hampden. Never did wake up to the place. Think I always blamed it for our having to more there — silly as that sounds. (Addie)

Heart thoughts are profound, hindsight aches and hope is obscure. I'm craving a great adventure -- one that leads me back home.

His boredom was like a nostalgia for the whole world. He was homesick for everywhere but here.

I always pictured it a grand thing, the moment I would take off. Someone waving long after I was out of sight and some tune playing soft from somewhere I couldn’t see. I pictured it a clear line, some sort of sharp edge between before and after. But there is no such thing. You can take a U-turn where you’re walking on the pavement but people are just on their own ways home, and now you’re in their way. You keep walking against the tide and you think you’re doing something great but really you’re just pissing people off and when you finally get out on the open field where no directions exist, you find yourself lonely, not free, just a big, vast lonely world that surrounds you and you can go anywhere you please but suddenly you don’t want to go anywhere at all. You just want to go home. Back to your people.

You're not built for riding, either," Horace added. "I'd say more saddle sore than homesick." Svenal sighed ruefully, shifting his buttocks for the twentieth time to find a more comfortable spot. "It's true," he said. "I've been discovering parts of my backside I never knew existed.

He breathed in. He breathed out. He forgot how to exhale when he wasn't at home.

I am homesick for a place where silence is the only language, love is the only religion, and freedom is not something to be fought for…

He got up and stalked out of the house, slamming the screen door. My mother explained. He has a gentle heart, she said. It is simply that he is homesick and such a large man.

I am homesick for the time when my heart was whole

I like being outside at night. It gives me this weird feeling, like I'm homesick but not for home.

I'm always homesick for the journey,” I had once written in ink speckled script, adding almost as an afterthought, “...no matter what it may hold.

It seems like there are so many homesick people in the world. It seems like so many of us live far away from where we were born.

I am homesick for a place I am not sure even exists. One where my heart is full. My body loved. And my soul understood.

It dawned on me that no person is as poetically homesick as someone who has come to New York for the first time and glimpsed a small vestige of her home state.

It didn't help, reminding herself that if she were back in Blackpool she'd spend the afternoon aching to be in London. It just made her feel that she'd never be happy anywhere.

It’s all about that cosy, homey feeling, the one you leave behind when you travel across the world.

I wanted my mom, in a way you maybe can’t ever want anyone else. It was primal and sharp and it made me feel like a needle in the haystack of a cold and terrible world. I wanted my mom.

No, she felt homesick, not for a place, but for a time. Maybe it wasn't homesickness at all. Maybe it was timesickness. She just missed those days when she was younger - seven, six, five, four years old - when she didn't know so much about the world. She missed, most of all, her mother.

It tugs at me, filling me with the kind of seasick nostalgia that can hit you in the gut when you find an old concert ticket in your purse or an old coin machine ring you got down at the boardwalk on a day when you went searching for mermaids in the surf with your best friend. That punch of nostalgia hits me now and I start to sink down on the sky-coloured quilt, feeling the nubby fabric under my fingers, familiar as the topography of my hand.

Oh Lord! Don't, don't start rhapsodising over that cod again, darling! I can't bear it and I know you are going to!" She laughed. "You don't understand. It was because it was so typically English.