Best 12501 quotes in «home quotes» category

Nos·tal·gia (n): A feeling that lingers long after the taste is gone.

Nostalgia is a longing for your home.

No settled family or community has ever called its home place an “environment.” None has ever called its feeling for its home place “biocentric” or “anthropocentric.” None has ever thought of its connection to its home place as “ecological,” deep or shallow. The concepts and insights of the ecologists are of great usefulness in our predicament, and we can hardly escape the need to speak of “ecology” and “ecosystems.” But the terms themselves are culturally sterile. They come from the juiceless, abstract intellectuality of the universities which was invented to disconnect, displace, and disembody the mind. The real names of the environment are the names of rivers and river valleys; creeks, ridges, and mountains; towns and cities; lakes, woodlands, lanes roads, creatures, and people. And the real name of our connection to this everywhere different and differently named earth is “work.” We are connected by work even to the places where we don’t work, for all places are connected; it is clear by now that we cannot exempt one place from our ruin of another. The name of our proper connection to the earth is “good work,” for good work involves much giving of honor. It honors the source of its materials; it honors the place where it is done; it honors the art by which it is done; it honors the thing that it makes and the user of the made thing. Good work is always modestly scaled, for it cannot ignore either the nature of individual places or the differences between places, and it always involves a sort of religious humility, for not everything is known. Good work can be defined only in particularity, for it must be defined a little differently for every one of the places and every one of the workers on the earth. The name of our present society’s connection to the earth is “bad work” – work that is only generally and crudely defined, that enacts a dependence that is ill understood, that enacts no affection and gives no honor. Every one of us is to some extent guilty of this bad work. This guilt does not mean that we must indulge in a lot of breast-beating and confession; it means only that there is much good work to be done by every one of us and that we must begin to do it.

No, the safest thing is to become an island. To make your house a citadel against all the garbage and ugliness in the world. How else can you be sure of anything?

Nothing brings home closer than going home...

Not his real home, his real home, the one he never named any more, was the dark and sooty chamber in his heart that contained his sister and his brother and, because it was an accommodating kind of space, the entire filthy history of the industrial revolution.

Nothing was so likely to do her good as a little quiet cheerfulness at home.

Nothing was okay. And he was far from home.

...not to look back or feel sad about things, that home is wherever I am.

Of course, it’s now obvious why he was so angry that day. People don’t move into hospice to live but to die. And that half an egg sandwich I ended up making him–that sandwich was the last meal he ate in our Haight-Ashbury apartment, our one true home.

O enchanted land of my childhood, a cultural petri dish from which regularly issues forth greatness. New Jersey, in case you didn't know it, has got beaches. And they're not all crawling with roid-raging trolls with reality shows. I grew up summering on those beaches and they are awesome. Jersey's got farmland, beautiful bedroom communities where that woman from "Real Housewives" who looks like Dr. Zaius does not live nor anyone like her. Even the refineries, the endless cloverleaves of turnpikes and expressway twisting and unknowable patterns over the wetlands that are to me somehow beautiful. To know Jersey is to love her.

Off... my mom is again home, it's really fucked up I can't talk... however I finished watching Limitless the series so now I'm going on "Lie to Me"!

Offering care means being a companion, not a superior. It doesn’t matter whether the person we are caring for is experiencing cancer, the flu, dementia, or grief. If you are a doctor or surgeon, your expertise and knowledge comes from a superior position. But when our role is to be providers of care, we should be there as equals.

Old buildings whisper to us in the creaking of floorboards and rattling of windowpanes.

Old Barley might be as old as thee hills, and might swear like a whole field of troopers, but there were redeeming youth and trust and hope enough in Chinks's Basin to fill it to overflowing.

olivia reminds me of a bird sometimes, how her feathers get all ruffled when she's mad. and when she's fragile like this, she's a little lost bird looking for its nest.

On building homes for fallen angels: When I was small - I sought a home, a place to go and rest my bones. Then founded something, of my own, I lived among the restless stones. If seeking leads you back to evil, what good is that, I asked a weevil. He said a home is what you make, it can't be real, if it is fake... And if you wait instead of seek, will you find love, or something bleak? I know (myself) for I have found, a beauty, hidden – in a sound. Waiting is boring. And so is exploring. A smile is sometimes all it takes. And then your whole world simply breaks.

Once in my room I don't have a goddamn clue what to do.

Once we are made aware of the universality of our angsts and joys, we become one under the sky of humanity

Once you open your home to nursing, you essentially become the employer of a small staff, even if you aren’t signing the paychecks. As in any workplace, the staff needs to know the rules and expectations, and it is your job to set them and communicate them well. This is your new job; you’ve been promoted to Home Care CEO.

One can build a perfect home, but not live in it.

One can execute several dimensions of meanings; however, home demonstrates that, where one feels, love, respect, justice, peace, and care that, display the values as a bar of gold. Whereas, the same terms, define as a diamond, where one was born

One day, I’ll feel the depth of hugs once again, and it’s going to feel like HOME.

...one can never leave home...one carries the shadows, the dreams, the dragons of home under one's skin, at the extreme corners of one's eyes...

One by one the lights emerged Fluttering like fireflies Reminding of the path home Even for the ones Who lost their way long ago

One final reason for choosing God’s path is of supreme importance: It leads us home.

One is not to win the world, he has to win the home (family).

On gray days, when it's snowing or raining, I think you should be able to call up a judge and take an oath that you'll just read a good book all day, and he'd allow you to stay home.

One works hard to prop up an illusion that sucks the life out of them, and the other works hard to make their home a place that restores them, nurtures them, and gives life to others.

O persoană care te așteaptă undeva este o lumânare care se aprinde într-un câmp pe timpul nopții. Poate că nu reușește să lumineze întregul întuneric, dar îți arată drumul de întoarcere acasă.

Only now, when it is too late, do I long for Dearth. I was a misbegotten child of bad blood and bile, and I mistook my own orneriness for cleverness. I presumed to know what happiness was - something I could possess, like a marble, or a man. Something I could only find elsewhere. But just when I started to find it at home, I outfoxed myself and lost it forever.

Only home is the place where you can afford to be aggressive.

Only where there is life can there be home.

On the way out through the steel door, as I held Makenzie in my arms, I wondered if she could use her "Dorothy shoes" to take us safely home, if I just held on to her tightly. Then I asked myself: Where is home, really? I hoped that now I would know.

Or maybe we'll make a home somewhere inside ourselves, to carry with us wherever we go- which is the way I carry my mother now.

Our homes travel with us. They are wherever we feel loved and accepted.

Our home is a belonging place.

Our every thought reflects our level of awareness, consciousness, and love for this amazing world that we call home.

Our herd may roam, but we all know where is home.

Our house was open to anyone who needed a little extra support or comfort or just a home-cooked meal.

Parents should also question much of the contemporary emphasis on special materials and equipment for learning in a child's environment. A clutter of toys can be more confusing than satisfying to a child. On the other hand, natural situations, with opportunieties to explore, seldom overstimulate or trouble a small child. Furthermore, most children will find greater satisfaction and demonsstrate greater learning from things they make and do with their parents or other people than from elaborate toys or learning materials. And there is no substitute for solitude - in the sandpile, mud puddle, or play area - for a yound child to work out his own fantasies. Yet this privilege is often denied in our anxiety to institutionalize children.

Our stars are not where we last admired them. Our homes crumble and we don't know which place to long for.

Out ahead of them, Arkady began something very like a marching song, chanting lines answered by the other ferals, their voices ringing out across the sky, each to each. Temeraire added his own to the chorus, and little Iskierka began to scrabble at his neck, demanding, "What are they saying? What does it mean?" "We are flying home," Temeraire said, translating. "We are all flying home.

Papa taps on the skylight and I look up. He waves at me and smiles. I smile back. For now, I don't need to know what lies ahead. For now it's enough just to be here, safe aboard the Morning Star with my family and friends. For now, it's enough to be home.

Peace and gladness in every home is a peace for the society, nation and the world.

People who stay away from home are always going home for the holidays. People who stay at home are always going away from home for the holidays.

[Peggotty] gave me one piece of intelligence which affected me very much, namely, that there had been a sale of the furniture at our old home, and that Mr. and Miss Murdstone were gone away, and the house was shut up, to be let or sold. I had no part in it while they remained there, but it pained me to think of the dear old place as altogether abandoned; of the weeds growing tall in the garden, and the fallen leaves lying thick and wet upon the paths. I imagined how the winds of winter would howl round it, how the cold rain would beat upon the window-glass, how the moon would make ghosts on the walls of the empty rooms, watching their solitude all night. I thought afresh of the grave in the churchyard, underneath the tree: and it seemed as if the house were dead, too [...].

People like my grandmother, who have no home but in memory, learn to be very skilled in the art of recollection.

People would rather live in homes regardless of its grayness. There is no place like home.

Perhaps home, like the moon, will follow wherever she goes.