Best 12501 quotes in «home quotes» category

Lucy settled into August's kitchen as if they were a family.

Madness is like an alternative residence. When sanity chases you out of home, take shelter in madness.

Maddie breathed in deep, inhaling the scent of breakfast and dish soap, clean laundry and wood floors, sunshine and a room filled with love. It smelled like home.

Make your heart the most beautiful home.

Make your habits your beloved home.

Make your heart, your dearest home.

Making a beautiful, happy home is not about what we don't have or what we want to buy. It's all about what we do have, and how incredibly precious it all is. It's about how we spend the days we're given with this family of ours, and making the home we share a place our kids will love to describe to our grandchildren. It's about making our kids' memories delightful.

Managing in-home nursing is not always easy. It can be terribly frustrating sometimes, and it can take a while to feel like everything is under control, but success is possible.

Making a home is hard work, and for some reason it's underappreciated. It's way to make sense of things.

Many homes are on the rocks today because God has been left out of the domestic picture. With the clash of personalities in a domestic pattern, there must be an integrating force, and the living God is that Force!

Many people live by approval. They often go to other people's homes; while their own is on dump alert; the houses of the others are in derision for waste.

Mapmaking: Imagine whole regions of your future where anywhere might become home.

Maria cries unashamedly on my shoulder while I whisper and pet her cheek, but Anastasia grips my other hand and stares fiercely back at our Alexander Palace with her wet blue eyes until it is no more than a lemon-colored speck against the sunrise.

Maybe I live in the gates that lead to outbound international flights. Maybe that is home. And do I feel more comfortable at the departures or at the arrivals?

Maybe home is something we have to make, and remake, over and over. But it's hard to make things when you're afraid―or you're certain—that they'll just be broken.

Maybe home is nothing but two arms holding you tight when you’re at your worst.

Maybe, in the end, a home is a place where you have no other choice but to stay.

Maybe my guard was up all the time and she was reacting to that. But I wish she had seen through it and I wish that once, just once, I had told her how I feel. That I feel safer when she is around. Sometimes I had tested her, wanting so desperately for her to let me down so then I would have an excuse to walk away. But she never did. I wish I could tell her it breaks my heart that I miss her more than I ever missed my mother and that the thing that frightens me the most about next October when I graduate is not that I won't have home, but that I won't have her.

Maybe this isn't home, nor ever was- maybe home is where I have to go tonight. Home is the place where when you go there, you have to finally face the thing in the dark.

...maybe you think up North is way different from down South. Don't believe it and don't count on it. Custom is just as real as law and can be just as dangerous.

May the stars guide you on your journey, and your heart always lead you home.

may this poetry be the home you will someday come back to.

Men? One never knows where to find them. The wind blows them away. They have no roots, and that makes their life very difficult.

Mr. Arsenikos said if you knew the constellations you would never get lost. You could always find your way home.

Mind, home and country are the interiorities of hygge.

Mom has reorganized the kitchen so that the one room that was everyone's room is foreign to me. My visits are punctuated with me whipping around, angrily demanding, "Where are the forks, WHY DID YOU MOVE THE FORKS?" and she has to calmly open the drawer on the other side of the kitchen as if she moved it just to ruin my life. I just found out where she puts the bowls and their new location feels like such a personal attack that I can barely talk about it without raising my blood pressure.

Most people do not mind having a house that is smaller and/or a car that is cheaper than their neighbours’, as long as they each earn and have more money than their neighbours, and, equally important, their neighbours know that.

아마 그곳이 Mi Casa With you I’mma feel rich

Mi cuarto esta oscuro, y Etienne envuelve sus brazos a mi alrededor. Escuchamos a la cantante de ópera en un silencio tranquilo. Estoy sorprendida por lo mucho que extrañare Francia. Atlanta fue casa por casi diesiocho años e incluso cuando solo he estado en Paris por los últimos nueve meses, me ha cambiado. Tengo una ciudad entera que conocer el año que viene pero no estoy asustada. Porqué tenía razón. Para nosotros dos, casa no es un lugar. Es una persona. Y finalmente estamos en casa.

Moments later, I was climbing nervously into the back of the car. The driver wore the archetypal expression of an antagonist. No words were exchanged beyond the brief lines uttered to this nameless stranger, whose inclinations remained unclear. The car sped along empty roads and traversed dingy alleyways. Music blared from its speakers. I did not remember exhaling throughout the entire journey.

Money can buy you a house, but only love can buy you a home.

Most folks don't have but a few days to a week's worth of food in their houses at any given time. When they run out, they'll have to forage. Only the fools will forage in town. The smart ones will look on the outskirts.

Mother seemed happiest when making and tending home, the sewing machine whistling and the Mixmaster whirling. Her deepest impulse was to nurture, to simply dwell; it had nothing to do with ambition and achievement in the world...How had I come to believe that my world of questing and writing was more valuable than her dwelling and domestic artistry?...I wanted to go out and do things--write books, speak out. I've been driven by that. I don't know how to rest in myself very well, how to be content staying put. But Mother knows how to BE at home--and really, to be in herself. It's actually very beautiful what she does...I think part of me just longs for the way Mother experiences home.

My cheeks are red hot, my lip still trembles, because I sent my heart to speak; every word of it delusional and awkward, an exuberance, an abrupt sound. That's how I spoke, oh, it still shows on my hot cheeks I'm now carrying home. I look down at the snow and walk past many houses, past many hedges, many trees, the snow adorns hedge, tree and house. I walk on, staring down at the snow, on my cheeks nothing but red-hot memory reminding me of my wild talk.

My bones are my unique home.

My father is using me as a message of hope. My sister is using me as a message of fear. I don't want to be used by anybody.

My friend Bailey is looking at me with tears in her eyes and a smile of pure joy. She sees me, the real me, not the broken little bird that my mother sees, or the Ambassador of Hope that my father sees, or the girl who was stupid enough to walk off with a stranger and ruin everyone's lives that my sister sees. Bailey sees me as I want to be: a normal, non-newsworthy, non-broken, non-victimized sixteen-year-old girl.

My friends stood on the ground two feet below me, and miles away from understanding why I would want to sleep on a trailer platform... I couldn't possibly begin to explain what was only beginning to bud inside me: I wanted a home. I wanted to be at home, in the world and in my body (a feeling I had been missing since I'd woken up in the hospital) and somehow, in some as yet undefined way, I knew that windows in the great room and a skylight over my bed were going to help with that.

My home is gone and my job is gone. I have nowhere left to turn, so I’m in this for the long haul.

My heart is my heavenly home.

My home is not a place; it's people.

My home will never be a place, but a state of mind, which I find through my music.

My heart is my home.

My home is my heart. I am wandering through the way of love.

My Keeper's house. Right there. Brown shingles, dark red shutters, yellow-and-black police tape wrapped around the massive tree trunks. The attic window looks out over the yard and the world narrows until that attic window is the only thing I can see.

My love is like a lonely light wandering through the darkness searching for a home.

My boyfriend likes to fuck my brains out on our kitchen island. Which tile would you recommend for that?

My darling husband, my heart is your home.

My father says you remember the smell of your country no matter where you are but only recognize it when you're far away.

My head cleared the water, and a strong arm wrapped around my middle as my lungs automatically sucked in air. I started coughing immediately, water sputtering out of my mouth. I blinked against my blurred vision as commotion erupted around me. “Help me, man,” a voice said. It was desperate and raw. Romeo. “I got her,” said another familiar voice, Braeden. He slid his arms beneath my arms and towed me up out of the water. My legs buckled, and instead of letting me fall, he scooped me up and held me against him. I dropped my head against his shoulder and wrinkled my nose. He didn’t feel right. The sound of splashing water drifted over, and I flinched against the sound. “I got her,” Romeo said, and I was shifted against a chest I knew very well. I was home. I whimpered because he felt so good, and his arms tightened around me. “Don’t let anyone in the house,” Romeo said, and I heard Braeden agree.