Best 12501 quotes in «home quotes» category

Shelter can be hard to find. A place can become our home for reasons we do not understand. We build the memories that turn into what we are, then what we were, as we look back.

She pondered the arrangements of the paintings on a wall like a writer pondered commas.

She loves him so much. He is her native place.

She said, "Daddy thinks that all the world's magic is almost evolved out." I thought of Roebuck Lake, its swamps and sloughs and loblollies and breaks of cypress and cane, its sunken treetops and stobs and bream beds and sleepy gar rolling over and over and over, its baptizing pools and bridges and mussels and mosquitoes and turkey vultures and, now in the drought, the gray flaking mud-flats and logs crowded with turtles and sometimes a fat snake yawning its tame old cottony mouth like a well-fed dog in a pen. I said, "Is that what the freak show is?" She said, "Dirty miracles.

She's always thought of home as a physical destination but perhaps... home, like the moon will follow wherever she goes.

She referred to "home," but it wasn't a place she referred to; it was Jamie, and Louie, and her sister, and even her brother, and the rest of the Europa show people. I guessed maybe that was the key--to figure out who your home was and find a way to keep them with you.

She smelled of home...as if home had never been a place, but had always been this little person whom she'd carried alongside her.

She stood awkwardly for another endless moment -- a total and obvious outsider, even though this was her house where she lived. It felt like she didn't belong anywhere. It felt like she probably never would.

She took the long way home,” said Ruth. “Some do, you know. They seem lost. Sometimes they might even head off in the wrong direction. Lots of people give up, say they’re gone forever, but I don’t believe that. Some make it home, eventually.

She wanted to burn the whole place to ashes but, at the same time, it would be kind of nice to see it again. Home.

She was still hugging the cat. "Poor slob," she said, tickling his head, "poor slob without a name. It's a little inconvenient, his not having a name. But I haven't any right to give him one: he'll have to wait until he belongs to somebody. We just sort of took up by the river one day, we don't belong to each other: he's an independent, and so am I. I don't want to own anything until I know I've found the place where me and things belong together. I'm not quite sure where that is just yet. But I know what it's like." She smiled, and let the cat drop to the floor. "It's like Tiffany's," she said. [...] It calms me down right away, the quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there, not with those kind men in their nice suits, and that lovely smell of silver and alligator wallets. If I could find a real-life place that made me feel like Tiffany's, then I'd buy some furniture and give the cat a name.

She who has the excellence of home virtues, and can expend within the means of her husband, is a help in the domestic state

Since our first meeting I knew that I have a home other than Iraq A home, where safety, peace, and love

-Sintiéndolo mucho, tendrás que venir. Sé que ella intenta protegerte, pero debes saber que cuando todo esto haya acabado, tendrás un hogar, muchachito. Con alguien que te querrá y cuidará de ti.

Sitting in a corner, I live like a toad Oh! How I love my room: my tiny abode! Here I wake up; and I sleep in here The world far away; yet virtually near Not that I'm jailed in this place of grace Just don't want to face another face

. . . sitting up cross-legged and noting the light, how it fills the room in streams, etching out the shape of Zach recumbent, a bold coastline in a clarion sky. I drop anchor here, thinks Rachel. Anywhere here. You are my home, my horizon, my shore. How long is the coast of Britain?

Small Moth... She's slicing ripe white peaches into the Tony the Tiger bowl and dropping slivers for the dog poised vibrating by her foot to stop their fall when she spots it, camouflaged, a glimmer and then full on- happiness, plashing blunt soft wings inside her as if it wants to escape again.

Small wonder how pitiably we love our home, cling in her skirts at night, rejoice in her wide star-seducing smile, when every star strikes us sick with the fright: do we really exist at all?

Smart people avoid living in ‘Smart’ homes.

Softer memories once lived there. Where there is now burning. Where there is now blood. That was where childhood held you. Instead there is a forgetting. Instead there is a fireflood. You have never forgotten how home was more than just a language you grew inside your mouth before you said it in a way your tongue bled. When it lived as a place outside of your body and more than just in your heart and head. Where you once taught your children how to speak and walk and sang them lullabies till they fell asleep in their beds. How it has become a legend, just a holy story you pass from praying hands to praying hands. Where once you built hallowed walls there is now simply scorched earth and bloodied sands. A memory of the scared land that it once was before your whole world was set completely to flames How your heart breaks everyday because home, home no longer remembers how to say your name. Home was your refuge, and I wish they would see. because after cruelly taking it from you, they call you refugee.

So if someone is thinking about me, then that's the place I go ?

So immutably does a human being surrender to the mist of the Motherland! Just as a tooth will not stop aching until the nerve is killed, so is it with us; we shall probably not stop responding to the call of the the Motherland until we swallow arsenic.

So many cameras are on me. This press conference is going to be on every news channel and posted on the internet. Thousands, maybe millions of people will see me. And they will all be thinking: Victim. Victim. Victim.

,,So maybe, for me, home is not the city, but the people.

Some books are so familiar, reading them is like being home again.

So maybe home is something that changes as we do, something that expands and contracts with time and loss.

Sometimes all we need is a hug that will make us feel home. The heartbeats that sound like a lullaby and the eyes which assure us that the world is not such a bad a place yet every time we stare into them.

Some candle inside him was dangerously close to guttering. A definition of loneliness surfaced in his mind: when you suddenly understand that the story of your life isn't what you thought it was.

Some of us manage to think bigger, brighter, deeper thoughts. Some of these thoughts already shape the kind of research we do. Some of them will prove to be right, and our understanding of our home will deepen. Our home, one day, will be less of a mystery to us.

Sometimes, all it takes is one arm wrap-round. And a heart’s home.

Sometimes, even when I'm standing on a remarkable slice of terra firma, I'm besotted with wanderlust, my heart thumping for the next unknown place and my mind wondering what's next. But right now, in this rain forest, floating in crystal waters after a walk on ancient, sacred soil with my flesh and blood, I want to be nowhere else. Nowhere. This, right now, is home. I can hear God through the rustling of the prehistoric fan shaped leaves, the scurry of alien insects on the bark, the familiar laughter of my children slipping on stones in the water. Everything here is unfamiliar, but it's familiar. We are transient, vagabonds, and yet we're tethered.

Sometimes I get mail for people who lived in my home before I did, and sometimes my own body seems like a home through which successive people have passed like tenants, leaving behind memories, habits, scars, skills, and other souvenirs.

Sometimes home is not a place, it is someone's heart.

Some of us can live without a society but not without a family.

Some stories won't have a happy ending, but there's always hope that the next one will. Hope is everything. Even when there's nothing else. Especially when there's nothing else.

Something contracts in my chest. The air shifts, grows heavy and dense as mud. Alexa twists her hair around her finger and whispers, "Didn't you even try to escape, Charlotte?

Sometimes home is where the heart is, Eddie thought randomly. I believe that. Old Bobby Frost said home's the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in. Unfortunately, it's also the place where, once you're in there, they don't ever want to let you out.

Sometimes I can’t tell if you hate this place or love it.” “I love its potential. I hate its past. And I don’t like what it is.” She hugs her knees close to her chest. “The way you feel about the place you grew up in is a lot like how you feel about your family.” “How’s that?” She thinks about it for a long time. “Like isn’t the same thing as love.

Sometimes in life you find love so powerful that you get tunnel vision. You only see the one you love, the one you desire. No one or no thing gets in the way of what you feel. A love so strong which makes you feel invincible in this world. And, everywhere you go, all the people can see you glow.

Sometimes in life you just have to take a leap of faith.

sometimes the most perfect home is made out of the space between two hands.

Sometimes to be at home is like a nightmare by Stephen King.

Sometimes we must leave our true homes for something greater to come.

Sometimes memory is the only gift we give ourselves and the only hope we have of finding our way home.

Sometimes our whole life is all about, not letting the fire that burns our homes down become the light that guides us home.

Sometimes there is no choice but to walk into your own house. Far away, you think, and you do not want to see. You come home and you say do not tell me. You say, I have hunted the elk all over the snowfields of the Selway, and I do not want to know what happened here. And then there is a morning you walk in and take a look in your own house, like any traveler.

Sometimes, You just don't feel home.

Soon, I'd be home again. Soon, God willing, I'd be asleep.

Soon their arms were wrapped around her, and at that moment Alice knew she had found a home, a permanent one, for the first time in her life. Not just within the brownstone walls of that house, but in the people who resided there. For the first time, Alice was apart of a family.

Sorry, but despite how I look, I really love this planet.-Gintoki