Best 12501 quotes in «home quotes» category

If you are going somewhere. Go, only if you're coming back.

If you are lucky, home is not only a place that you leave, but also a place where you someday arrive.

If you can't build a house for her, let her feel at home with you.

If you don’t want to leave your home, how can you begin your journey to what you want?

If you give me home I will give you adventure. It's both we can have.

If you have a house but no home, you are homeless; knowledge but no wisdom, you are imprudent; acquaintances but no friends, you are lonely; money but no happiness, you are poor; and life but no joy, you are lifeless.

If your heart is your home, you can be happy anywhere.

If your spirit is persistently harmless or if it has shown itself to you, in a non-threatening way, then you most definitely have a ghost. The ghost can be frightening, by its very nature. But the ghost will never intentionally frighten you. They will be there for three reasons: 1. They used to live there and are attached to the location 2. They are trying to communicate something to the living or 3. They are protective of somebody who lives in the house and so they are “standing guard” so to speak, over the loved one.

If you want to change the world, you start small, right at home.

If you want to radiation poison a nation, just start shipping them cheap ionizing smoke detectors for the home with a little too much radiation in them.

If you were married to yourself could you stay with yourself? My house would be frightening and wild.

If you wish to know the truth of who you are, follow the voice that calls you home. Go there. For where our love is, there we will be.

I gaze out, to the stars. I remember the first time I saw real stars, through the hatch window. They were beautiful then, but now, seeing them here, all around me, beautiful feels like an inadequate word. I see the stars as a part of the universe, and having spent my life behind walls, suddenly having none fills me with both awe and terror. Emotion courses through my veins, choking me. I feel so insignificant, a tiny speck surrounded by a million stars. A million suns. Centuries away is Sol. Circling around it is Sol-Earth, the planet Amy came from. And one of these other stars is the Centauri binary system, where the new planet spins, waiting for us. And here we are, in the middle, surrounded by a sea of stars. Any of them could hold a planet. Any of them could hold a home. But all of them are out of reach.

I guess you only know your home when you come back to it.

I guess I figured that as long as I was with people I loved, I was home. It didn't matter where we were or what kind of place we lived in. We had each other and that was enough.

I had always thought of home not as a house, or even a place, but a feeling of safety and acceptance, a warm light when the rest of the world was a dark, forbidding place. Whenever my family was around, wherever we were, I felt like I was home.

i guess it's impossible to understand the meaning of home until a place you called home loses its meaning.

I had come alive here...this was my home, and though one day it would all trickle through my fingers like so much red dust, for as long as childhood lasted it was a heaven fitted exactly to me. A place I knew by heart. The one place in the world I'd been made for.

I had a dream, which seemed so real, I was King of the world, so full of appeal, Upon waking I found I wasn't alone, In a kingdom called Home, sitting on a throne.

I had discovered that the plainest house can crown a fantasy or daydream. An open window can be tolerated. So can an open door. But I discovered the value of four walls and a roof. Something about containment that at the same time offers escape.

I have a thought that’s starting to become more and more of a recurring theme in my life: I probably should’ve just stayed home and watched Friends with my mom.

I hate myself that I wasn't there for him. I hate that I could not feel it in him. How could I not know what had happened? How could I not hear it in his voice, his comments, or in his demeanor? He needed my help, and I couldn't feel it.

I have an idea that some men are born out of their due place. Accident has cast them amid certain surroundings, but they have always a nostalgia for a home they know not. They are strangers in their birthplace, and the leafy lanes they have known from childhood or the populous streets in which they have played, remain but a place of passage. They may spend their whole lives aliens among their kindred and remain aloof among the only scenes they have ever known. Perhaps it is this sense of strangeness that sends men far and wide in the search for something permanent, to which they may attach themselves. Perhaps some deep-rooted atavism urges the wanderer back to lands which his ancestors left in the dim beginnings of history.

I have drunk the night and swallowed the stars. I am dancing with abandon and singing with rapture. There is not a thing I do not love. There is not a person I have not forgiven. I feel a universe of love. I feel a universe of light. Tonight, I am with old friends and we are returning home. The moon is our witness.

I had lived my life before in accordance with the poverty and itinerancy of my childhood, sliding in and out of other people’s leases, never expecting to stay very long and tolerating circumstances that strike me now as completely absurd.

I have been wasting my whole life guiding other people home , to the extent that I’ve lost my own path , and I’ve taken many wrong roads to places that I’ll never belong to …

I have made you some things, for when you get back. I understand now, all the baking you sent me, stale and crumbled in brown paper and rough twine. Now you’re away and I am here. So I will make and make until you get back to remind you, and myself: there are reasons to come home.

I have no emotions. I just stand there, in the rubble of my life. This… this was my home. If it were a person, this would be a gaping chest wound, the kind no one can recover from.

I have no home in the sense that is generally understood and so there is nothing to prevent me enjoying to the uttermost the spirit of wanderlust that has entered my soul. I am never lonely. How can I be when there is so much to see and admire in the world?

...I have often wondered why we do it. Uproot ourselves, I mean. Why we feel the need to travel and wander into strange soil. Why we can't leave things alone. It must be the world calling to us. After all, they say it had been one giant continent once. Maybe this is why we feel drawn to each other, to the lands we cannot see. We think of new places as opportunities to build new lives, but all are we're really doing is trying to find our way back.

I have noticed a trend in premature deaths in the people that I know and the presence of streetlights outside of their homes.

I have no house but glad to have a home.

I don't know. I spent most of my life moving around. My dad and I had just settled in one place when all this happened. I..." She shrugged. "I guess I'm hoping it doesn't last much longer. I want a home." She glanced over her shoulder. "I know you do, too, even if you don't like to admit it." I thought she was talking to me. Then Derek stepped into the doorway. "He wasn't eavesdropping," she said to me. "He just doesn't like me being alone with strangers in the house." She aimed a pointed look his way. "Even if I end up rescuing him from danger as often as he rescues me.

I just want to go home," whispered Nancy. "Silly ghost. That's all any of us want. That's why we're here," said Sumi.

I know nothing I’m doing is important,' he said. 'Sure, I’m just a waste product of history. Maybe nothing I’m doing is even real, after all. But I was born right here, in this old house, and I look out the window and know what I’m seeing, and I know some people I like to be with, and I like what I do all day long, and maybe that’s all that realness is, anyway

I knew I was a targeted individual when my home was illegally disconnected from the utility electrical system by the Sheriff.

I know there’s no chance of getting back home. I feel like we should stick together. I don’t think this thing will be over anytime soon. Not by a long shot.

I knew then that I wanted to go home, but I had no home to go to--and that is what adventures are all about.

i know you will come back to me one day, the day I've built my kingdom, the day when all my dreams are changed. and it will be better that you go back to your home, i will be in progress and you will be just an expatriate.

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

I like home. It’s warm and there are books.

I lived here once," the author said after a moment. "Here? For a long time?" "No. For just a little while when I was young." "It must have been rather cramped." "I didn't notice." "Would you like to try it again?" "No. And I couldn't if I wanted to." He shivered slightly and closed the windows. As they went downstairs, the visitor said, half apologetically: "It's really just like all houses, isn't it?" The author nodded. "I didn't think it was when I built it, but in the end I suppose it's just like other houses after all.

I know people that have had a lighting strike to a tree next to their home and their electronic products survived unscathed.

I love the echoes of a home filled to the rim with poetry, books and art.

I long to come home, but now, I will always come home to my family as a visitor, and that weighs on me, reverts me back into the teenager I was, but instead of insisting that I want everyone to leave me alone, what I want now is for someone to beg me to stay.

I loved it in the unconditional way that children love their first home.

I love the buildings. They're called skyscrapers. They're the closest thing to an ocean here. But it's an ocean that goes straight up, not flat out. They say that the body of water stretching away to the east of Manhattan is the ocean but it isn't. Not my ocean, anyway. It's weird because back home I just took it for granted, my grey-green sea. Now I have a granite ocean. It gives me the same happy-sad feeling I need sometimes. When I look straight up at the buildings I can feel alone in a good way. Not in that horrible way of no one knows me.

I love what Jacksonville taught me and where it led me. The good, the bad and the indifferent all helped shape me. I may not live there anymore but it lives inside me. It is and will always be my foundation.

I love messy homes, homes where a woman and kids have left their mark on every inch: sticky finger marks down the walls, trinkets and nests of pastel hair-gadgets on the mantelpiece, that smell of flowery things and ironing.

I'm being uprooted," Dino said. "You're being transplanted," Viv replied, "and to a better home.