Best 12501 quotes in «home quotes» category

XXIV. Wurzeln zu schlagen ist nicht immer ein probates Mittel gegen Einsamkeit.

Yes, she was lovely. But more than that, she was warm and funny and loving. Hot-tempered one moment, and laughing the next. And she could make a home anywhere. She carried a sort of security about with her. I can't think of a single person who didn't love her. I still think about her every day of my life. Sometimes she seems very dead. And other times, I can't believe that she isn't somewhere in the house and that a door won't open and she'll be there.

Yet though Americans have been driving up to their houses for decades and entering through backdoors, side doors, kitchen doors, and especially doors through garages, architects keep designing houses with ceremonial front doors that are nowhere near any car or driveway.

You and I... we are One. We are the waves on this cosmic sea called Love. And as the waves roll in, so do we for we are the waves, we are the Love. And when the waves roll out, so do we, for we are the Love, we are the waves. But fear not for we are not just the waves, we are the sea. This sea; that is Love. You see my sweet heart, there's no separation whatsoever between the waves and the sea, between coming and going (when perceived from our totality). We always are the sea. We are 'the' Love. We are this sea that is Love. So let us surrender. Let us surrender to Love. For Love; it truly is what we are... we are the sea, this sea called Love.

you are going to be sent home.... I 'm glad of it but where's HOME ?

You are more likely to find three TVs inside a randomly selected house than you are to find a single book that is or was not read to pass an exam, to please God, or to be a better cook.

You are not your brain. You are not your thoughts. You are not your feelings. You are not your money. You are not your home. You are not your team. You are not your body. You are not your strength. You are not your intelligence. You are not your business. You are not your work. You are not your posts. You are not your likes. You are not your views. You are not your subs. You are much better than that. Repeat.

You are such a home to me.

you are the only woman I have ever met who I would want to be in a little house with, do you see? Other women make me want to get on boats and run away. You, you make me want to stay somewhere, so that I can see your face everyday. So that I can hold you everyday and watch you grow older. You make me want to be an adult man. You make me want to settle down.

You can live for a long time inside the shell you were born in. But one day it'll become too small." "Then what?" I ask. "Well, then you'll have to find a larger shell to live in." I consider this for a moment. "What if it's too small but you still want to live there?" She sighs. "Gracious, child, what a question. I suppose you'll either have to be brave and find a new home or you'll have to live inside a broken shell.

You can have your home anywhere if you have a family by your side.

You can go home again, the General Temporal Theory asserts, so long as you understand that home is a place where you have never been.

You can home in a satellite - counting the people inside. And still, we feel protected by closing and locking the door. - The Illusion of a Door

You can never really escape. It goes with you, wherever you go. Somehow, the prairie dust gets in your blood, and it flows through your veins until it becomes a part of you. The vast stretches of empty fields, the flat horizons of treeless plains. The simplicity of the people—good, earnest people. The way they talk and the way they live. The lack of occurrence, lack of attention, lack of everything. All that—it’s etched into your soul and it colors the way you see everything and it becomes a part of you. Eventually, Ms. Harper, when you leave, everything you experience outside of Kansas will be measured against all you know here. And none of it will make any sense.

You cannot choose the womb that carried you but you can determine the tomb that takes you home.

You can take the Indian out of the family, but you cannot take the family out of the Indian.

You can't be transcendent,... which will mean to be perfect in everything. You can try to act as such person, but there is a lot of to learn. - As first you always will know the few from everything - Everything is endless! - (The Wolf of Wall Street), forgot everything what people say to you about the topic "Money"...because money are the thing which make your life interesting. You could buy the best phone, the best hotel or the best room, the best house, the best car, the best TV, the best books... the best wife... There are outside a lot of women which will sleep with you in replace of money... so reality you need money to have them... (More far than this I can't take you, because the train is too fast It will delete everything.... <----- it will just start from here.)... What I gonna say or I will say is "Good Luck and try by yourself the finish the mission".

You can’t go home again” ─ isn’t necessarily that places change but people do.

You can’t go home.” “Why not?” “I don’t know. Because it’s gone.” Aminata frowned, finished her drink, and nodded. “You can’t find it again. Even if you go back, it’s not there anymore. That’s history, that’s how it works! Someone’s always changing someone else.

You contribute much to your marriage by the wise, thrifty, diligent management and oversight of your part of the household budget.

You can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood, back home to romantic love, back home to a young man's dreams of glory and of fame, back home to exile, to escape to Europe and some foreign land, back home to lyricism, to singing just for singing's sake, back home to aestheticism, to one's youthful idea of 'the artist' and the all-sufficiency of 'art' and 'beauty' and 'love,' back home to the ivory tower, back home to places in the country, to the cottage in Bermude, away from all the strife and conflict of the world, back home to the father you have lost and have been looking for, back home to someone who can help you, save you, ease the burden for you, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting but which are changing all the time--back home to the escapes of Time and Memory.

You can wound my body, and it is only blood and bone. But wound my home, and you have wounded my heart.

You don't have to go away to know where your home is.

You don’t have a home until you leave it and then, when you have left it, you never can go back.

You do not see any improvements you would make?" Miss Harding's smile turned mischievous. "Not at present. But I should have to see the inside. That is where ladies really excel, you know, in curtains and cushions and such." "Indeed," David murmured, remembering how Maude had filled the London house with bolts and piles of fabrics and wallpapers and pillows the instant they arrived. Everything in the very latest style. And then he thought of Emma's cosy sitting room, all books and family portraits and dog beds.

You do see me crossing the meadow stiff and dead from the mist? I long for that home, that home I've never had, and without any hope that I'll ever be able to reach it. For such a home, never touched, I carry that longing that will never die, like that meadow dies stiff and dead from the mist. You do see me crossing it, full of dread?

You don’t really have idea about any of that olden-days stuff, do you?” He’s sure he can feel her smiling against his shoulder. “Busted,” she says. “Ah, it’s some nice talk, though, Sol. You make it all sound real nice.” “That’s the beauty of it. Just dreaming thoughts on once-was things. Animals and helping people and one place you could always call home.” “The Horizon is my home,” he says, and it strikes him for the first time how much that is true. A sudden keen longing for its shapes and spaces goes through him, and he hugs Sol to him tighter. “You are my home,” she says, real sudden. So sudden he’s sure she’s about to take it back any second—or at least wants to. But no taking back comes. He clings to the words so tightly he doesn’t think she could take them back even if she tried. Oh Sol, he thinks. God, please don’t let us die now. Not now. Not now that he realizes The Horizon isn’t his home at all. That he thinks like her. That she is his home, too.

You have asked me what I would do and what I would not do. I will tell you what I will do and what I will not do. I will not serve that in which I no longer believe, whether it call itself my home, my fatherland, or my church: and I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can, using for my defence the only arms I allow myself to use— silence, exile, and cunning.

You have brought me back to myself.

You know that old saying about home being where the heart is? I don’t think that refers to your own. It’s the hearts of other people, the ones you love, that makes a home.

You know that point in your life when you realize that the house you grew up in isn’t really your home anymore… All of the sudden, even though you have some place to put your shit, that idea of home is gone… Or maybe it's like this rite of passage… You will never have that feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start. It’s like a cycle or something. Maybe that’s all family really is: a group of people that miss the same imaginary place.

You know what I remember most vividly from that hospital? There were creases in the pillowcase. "I was in pain when they brought me in. They'd bandaged me up before transporting me, but they hand't had anything to deaden that kind of pain. So I wasn't clear in my head. I don't remember who was holding the stretcher, anything like that. "But when they lifted me up, and I looked at the cot I'd be transferred to, even as they tipped me onto it, I noticed the creases in the pillowcase, and it was everything I could do not to cry. You get used to things being dusty and gritty and oily, you really do, but then, when there's something clean, something that's been folded carefully, and unfolded carefully and it's there for your head, it's like your heart, it's like I don't know, I can't describe it.

You know home isn’t really about what color your couch is or what you hang on the wall... Home is about knowing you are in the right place with the right people.

You know that when a group of utility workers are withholding their customer service identification cards, they are likely engaging in some form of illegal activity at your home.

You live in your mind, but your true home is your soul.

You make me feel at home in my own skin, and that is one of the greatest gifts anyone has ever given me.

You may hate the war, but never hate the ones that fight. For they do not choose when or where to fight. All they chose was to protect who they love and even the people they don't know.

You may disagree. Personal history and national history do not always overlap, a point often overlooked in some of the broad strokes applied to the SG50 celebrations. But do consider your choices. In the age of Buzzfeed, we love lists. Make your own. No two lists will be the same, but collectively, they all say the same thing. They are all in search of a soul.

You need me to inspire you and remind you how wonderful you are. You need me to kiss you." He lowered his head and pressed his lips on her neck. "You need me to love you." "But more than that," he continued, "I need you. I need you to come home to. I need you to talk to and laugh with. I need you to love me back.

You need to belong to yourself, and let others belong to themselves too. You need to be free and detached from things and your surroundings. You need to build your home in your own simple existence, not in friends, lovers, your career or material belongings, because these are things you will lose one day.

...you need to assess what you love right now and what is authntic to your way of living in this season of life.

You need to have a Why Having a “Why” whatever it is, becomes food. It makes your dreams become more urgent.

Your home is where your family is... Where someone waits for you and thinks about you.

You're back where you swore yourself you wouldn't be The familiar shackles you can't tell from your own skin Your head's under water when you learned to swim On a road to hell, congratulations, you're free...

You're from somewhere, aren't you?

You restored me to the concept of home.

Your heartbeat is safe and familiar and all things home. It's the dance of dust on top of the kitchen cupboards, the wind through the rosemary, the brittle flutter of textbook pages, the embrace of a memory until now forgotten.

Your commitment to follow God's plan makes a difference in the atmosphere in your home and improves the climate of your marriage.

You’re far yet so close— to my soul. For, I have a home for you— in my heart— from the very beginning. So, you’ll stay, grow old, and be buried with me.

You're my favourite place to go when my mind searches for peace and my heart craves its home.