Best 12501 quotes in «home quotes» category

The dream of her was the glow of a spent fire on a cold night: warm and welcoming.

The emphasis of the churches were not in how much work or home keeping is done in the four walls of the church itself, they rather told the Protestants to go prove their love to God at their work places through the quality of their works

The farther away, the closer the home becomes.

The fastest way to go home is to be home...

The festive season isn’t just a time to teach children about Jesus and giving, it’s also a time to teach your children about those less fortunate. This year, encourage your children to pick a present and give it to a child who has none, or take them to a charity drive.

The Forest that had been about her all her life, certain as a mountain, was made ashes. The high gable that had stood for two hundred years fallen in ruin. Throvenland was torn apart like smoke on the wind. Nowhere would be safe, ever again.

The foundation for security and well being of a family is often built from a parent going extra miles to achieve it, doing mundane tasks to ensure it, standing up to injustice to protect it, and having the heart to listen and then express through embrace and action to each member of that sacred ohana how much they are deeply valued, unconditionally. And all the while, from birth, encouraging the other members to do the same. And often, from that foundation you have a home, well founded.

The flames rose and the properties devalued into ash.

The four of them stand in the cockpit of the Misdemeanor as they motor from one town to another. They pass their house, which is not theirs any longer. Libby cuts the throttle, and they stall there in front of their sprawling memory. The four of them have come up for the closing; since all of them are owners, they all must be present to sign away this place. They have given most of the land to the Maine Preservation Society, and the house, they have sold to a family who promises not to tear the whole thing down, though they know that is a lie. The oak is yellow and peeks from behind the house. The glossy white windows of the great room look down upon them. It is cold and they all wear their foul-weather gear, bright-yellow slickers, except Gwen, in a red poncho to accommodate the swell of her belly. Libby keeps one hand on the tiller and the other she slips into Tom’s hand. He gives it a squeeze and then puts his arm around her. Danny moves from the stern to stand between Tom and Gwen. They all stand on the starboard side looking at the house. Libby and Tom, then Danny, his hand resting on his brother’s shoulder, and Gwen next to him, her arms crossed over her protruding belly, her hair long and dark hanging down her back. She is no longer a beacon, but a buoy in her poncho, red right returning. The sky is gray and low and promises a choppy ferry ride to the mainland, but there in the safe haven of the harbor it is calm and windless, and the house isn’t empty, but expectant. The flat water, dark green now, lies empty, the float pulled out the month before. Going from town dock to town dock, there is no need for a tender. There is no way for them to come ashore, even if they wanted to. A house like this is not supposed to exist now. It comes from another era. It is a ghost, like the schooners that sail through the thoroughfare every summer. It is an aberration, a figment. It is their great shingled memory.

The fragment was pure white, the edges blunt and worn. "That's what makes the raven. Like they use for roads down in the tidewater area. Oyster shells on bare rock...

The fraudulent electrical utility company in conjunction with the corrupt sheriff taught me that an Englishman's home is not his castle

The gap that was created during those transatlantic voyages hundreds of years ago. That gap is the matrix of Saudade – The Longing, I think, that all Africans in the West have, that is at the root of the blues and jazz and soul and rap. If you listen you can hear it, elusive, fleeting, full of melancholy anger.

The happiest Christian homes I know are those given to hospitality, where neighbors feel at home, where young people are welcome, where the elderly are respected, where children are loved.

The heart is a sacred home.

The heart is the only sacred home.

The heart is the place where our life gets its direction.

The heartland lies where the heart longs to be. Sometimes it takes a lifetime to find the true place to plant it.

The home is the center of life. It is a refuge from the grind of work, the pressure of school, and the menace of the streets. We say that at home, we can “be ourselves.” Everywhere else, we are someone else. At home, we remove our masks. The home is the wellspring of personhood. It is where our identity takes root and blossoms, where as children, we imagine, play, and question, and as adolescents, we retreat and try. As we grow older, we hope to settle into a place to raise a family or pursue work. When we try to understand ourselves, we often begin by considering the kind of home in which we were raised.

The home is always a home and a noble place for shaping hearts! A good home is good for life!

The home of every soul is not among another's glory, but should be within another's soul.

The home is basically a sacred institution . . . Faith in Christ is the most important of all principles in the building of a happy marriage and a successful home.

The home only fulfills its true purpose when it is God-controlled. Leave Jesus Christ out of your home and it loses its meaning. But take Christ into your heart and the life of your family, and He will transform your home.

The house, and all the objects in it, crackled with static electricity; undertows washed through it, the air was heavy with things that were known but not spoken. Like a hollow log, a drum, a church, it was amplified, so that conversations whispered in it sixty years ago can be half-heard today.

The home is a place where we show our children that we can communicate, learn, and succeed together.

. . .the home place is the safe haven, the convergence of waters, the place where the beloved dead are as real as the living.

The house was large and deeply lived-in, all the shelves and surfaces stacked with books and boxes, framed pictures, old greeting cards set up like tent cities...Every single surface told a story. A long one. With digressions.

The introvert's anthem for not wanting to hang out is 'It's not you; it's me.

...the longer she had lived away, the more she realized that nowhere became home… though everywhere had.

The key to happiness is under the doorstep rug.

The leafy avenues, well-trimmed hedges and colourful, kempt gardens had oodles of eye appeal. She could see herself taking walks down the tree-lined streets to enjoy the aesthetic landscape.

The love song I wrote that day... I got embarrassed and never sang it for her. Oh yeah... I'll sing it to her when I go home. I'll go home. I'll hurry home.

The majority of the common people do not realize how corrupt the legal system has become until that blatant corruption shows up at their own homes.

The Jews have a saying worth remembering: "Whoever doesn't teach his son some trade or business, teaches him to be a thief." As soon as ever I can, I will make my children apprehensive of the main end for which they are to live; that so they may as soon as may be, begin to live; and their youth not be nothing but vanity. I will show them, that their main end must be, to, acknowledge the great God, and His glorious Christ; and bring others to acknowledge Him: and that they are never wise nor well, but when they are doing so. I will make them able to answer the grand question of why they live; and what is the end of the actions that fill their lives? I will teach them that their Creator and Redeemer is to be obeyed in everything, and everything is to be done in obedience to Him. I will teach them how even their diversions, and their ornaments, and the tasks of their education, must all be to fit them for the further service of Him to whom I have devoted them; and how in these also, His commandments must be the rule of all they do. I will sometimes therefore surprise them with an inquiry, "Child, what is this for? Give me a good account of why you do it?" How comfortably shall I see them walking in the light, if I may bring them wisely to answer this inquiry. -A Father's Resolutions, www.spurgeon.org/~phil/mather/resolvd...

The kids just got back from camp. After four days, it's great to have them home. I find myself staring at my wife and how she interacts with them. Spoils them. As if she's making up lost time. I don't know how else to say it, but that shit is hot.

The King in the Palace had the power to play with people’s lives and destroy them, but he did not even know what was happening in the ranks of his own soldiers, in the halls of his own home.

The Loon Charm To A Life Filled with A Love Whose Voice Always Calls You Home

The Lord Jesus Christ is preparing a home fit for all who live for Him, a place designed for the church triumphant. Let’s exemplify the work of His hands, for they are busy, on our behalf, building a city large enough to encompass His people of faith—an eternal home for the soul.

The Lord said unto me, 'I will take my rest and I will consider in my dwelling place like a clear heat upon herbs.

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.

The more love and support your child receives, the richer his or her life becomes, and nurses can certainly add to the circle of love surrounding your child.

The Men of the Ordeal do not march to save the World, Proyas--at least not first and foremost. They march to save their wives and children. Their tribes and their nations. If they learn that the world, their world, slips into ruin behind them, that their wives and daughters may perish for want of their shields, their swords, the Host of Hosts would melt about the edges, then collapse.

the more you learn about the world, the more things you need a home to be in order to call it a home.

The most dangerous place for your life is in your home, as you probably know. Most people are killed by family or those they are relatively close to. Refuges for women are important to deal with this. But in the end there are certain risks you take – when you walk in the streets you might be hit by a car.

The most luxurious home is the most peaceful one.

The night, cold and silent, Held a warmth and sound That echoed through my thoughts. It wasn’t deafening as it crashed All around, only mildly amusing. The shadows devoured the light Which gracefully enhanced Their deep rich darkness. The world circled and danced, Leapt and ran, swimming Throughout the witching hour.

Then a calm fell upon him. The gushing began from all sorts of places, all over his body. He heard pleasurable little giggles on the outer edges of his mind, in the dark creases behind his thoughts. He felt good, better than he’d felt in years. As if he were inside a huge embrace. And he felt as if he had finally reached the right place, his home, his motherland.

Then I probably fainted. The woman at the registration desk managed to put on a sympathetic expression afterward, as if she wanted to ask, "What are you going to do now?" I told her not to worry, I was really leaving, I was going home. But go home where? Without my children I no longer had a home.

The now reality is our only home, where everything already is. There is no other home we came from, and we might think we shall return to.

Then where is home, Johannes?" He looks at the maps on his wall. "I don't know," He says. "Where comfort is. And that is hard to find.

The official erasure of any existence before enslavement – as if black Americans did not exist before the yolk and the chains and whip – has always created a passion for us. Black people need to find out. We have to find out Who We Are and Where We Come From.