Best 163 quotes in «homeless quotes» category

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    It was like he’d just discovered fire, and she was the main ingredient.

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    Livia held her spatula as Blake whispered in her ear. “I see us just like this a hundred years from now, old and deaf. I’ll be the luckiest man.” Emotion caught her—this was all she wanted. Simple, beautiful frittata moments with this man. “Someday, Livia, I’ll be man enough to buy the food,” he continued. “I’ll give you an oven. I’ll try so hard.

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    I will never again look at the homeless people the way I did before entering Bowery Mission.

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    Most human beings strongly believe that money is way less important than the life of a human being, but in reality five hundred, fifty, or even five dollars are way more important to the lives of most human beings than the lives of most human beings.

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    My home is gone and my job is gone. I have nowhere left to turn, so I’m in this for the long haul.

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    Long has been this road called life. Every time you venture out in this road, remember. Home is within. Home is in you.

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    My own theory is that the spectacle of the homeless may be necessary to keep the rest of us on the straight and narrow...

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    My life is not glamorous. I have no intention for it to be. I've seen enough real life TV series about the emotional price of "high end" shoes, the carving disappointment of documenting every cash withdrawal on lunch, dinner and beautified / colorized apparel, about the political correctness underwired in social media protesting instead of voting. Something about me feels more sympathy towards the guy who went for canned beer and cigarettes in the backyard at 2 pm rather than your 5 cents.

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    My life might be in the streets, but my heart is gold. And together, I'm a street of gold.

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    Mr. Spencer says that the "miseries of the poor are thought of as the miseries of the deserving poor, instead of being thought of, as in large measure they should be, as the miseries of the undeserving poor." So conservative a political economist as John Stuart Mill has admitted, nay, positively stated, that no one but a romantic dreamer could believe that in modern society the rewards are proportioned to the work, and that even those poor people, commonly called the "undeserving poor," whose condition might with perhaps a trace of justice be said to be due to their own faults, have done and do more work than those who enjoy much worldly prosperity. One would need to be a philosopher to appreciate the. fact that poverty and misery are proportional to the laziness of the individual. The ordinary mortal, on being told that a man works a great many hours in a day, or, as they are popularly and with good reason called, "long hours," immediately jumps to the conclusion that that man's wages are small. The harder as well as the longer a man works, the smaller his wages are.

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    No one has really seen me in years.” Blake looked at the sky. “Sometimes I wonder how they know I don’t have a home. I try to dress decently.” He waved a hand at his jeans and army jacket. “I think it just seeps out of me. I’m not the same as everyone else.” He shook his head, pulling himself out of his despair, and looked at Livia again. “But when you saw me for the first time, you actually saw me. You saw me, and then you smiled like I was just the same as everyone else on that platform.

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    No one really belongs; at least not in this world. If there were a heaven, maybe there, but, even if there were, in it would be the souls who could bear witness to the undeniable cruelty of life, the poverty of the unwanted.

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    Nutrition is an important part of our overall health, of course, but also for our mental health. Homeless people are among the largest groups known to have high concentrations of mentally ill individuals. See the connection?” -Shenita Etwaroo

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    Selfless help conquers homelessness.

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    People stare at the floor. Even to look at a homeless person is to sign a contract with them. I dabbled with joining the Samaritans once. The supervisor had been homeless for three years. I remember him saying the worst thing was the invisibility.

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    She had to kill him. She had to kill Beckett the next time she saw him or all she’d done to become an exquisite monster would be for nothing.

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    She kissed his lips and felt his smile form. Alone in this beautiful space, Blake and Livia made things right. Blake kissed her slowly and patiently, like he had all the time in the world.

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    People are priceless. A chance meeting with a loving human being was worth more than any amount of money in the world. I felt rich.

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    Selflessness conquers homelessness.

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    Sometimes, You just don't feel home.

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    So I'm sitting in that damn chair, ready to die, and I say to her, 'You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I'm so damn glad you're going to kill me instead of some brainless, toothless druggie." Beckett smiled again at the memory of his almost-murder. "Then she traded the knife for her lips, and now she works for me." Beckett put his hands behind his head and flexed his giant biceps. "She won't tell me who hired her to come here. She's the deadliest person I've ever encountered. I still think she might kill me, but I can't stop looking at her.

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    Sorry to tell you, but that's a very old chestnut. My mother used to say when God slams a door on you, he opens a window.' Tig gave this two seconds of respectful consideration before rejecting it. 'No, that's not the same. I'm saying when God slams a door on you it's probably a shitstorm. You're going to end up in rubble. But it's okay because without all that crap overhead, you're standing in the daylight.' 'Without a roof over your head, it kind of feels like you might die.' 'Yeah, but you might not. For sure you won't find your way out of the mess if you keep picking up bricks and stuffing them in your pockets. What you have to do is look for blue sky.

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    Sniffing glue is a homeless nonbeliever's prayer.

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    Some people ate less food less often when they each had a home than they now do as hobos.

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    So you’re the music note, Beckett’s obviously the knife, who’s the cross?” She stroked Blake’s tattoo. “You’re about to find out. We’re headed to church.” Blake leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Of course we are. That makes perfect sense.” From hell to heaven.

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    Stop. Stop that. Tell me what happened to you.” She gently ran her fingers down the length of his chest. Blake shook his head. “My life outside of this train station won’t touch you.” His green eyes swam with pain and determination.

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    Street children are lovely blossoms just dropped from the tree after a heavy storm. Now they need to be put together with a needle and threads of security and shelter to live into a beautiful circle of life’s garland

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    The absolute defining moment of my life was the day the drug deal went bad. It started out just like any other day, at least for the girlfriend of a dealer. However, this time, it went bad. Really bad.

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    The homes I've built in people are falling apart and I'm afraid of being homeless.

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    Then, left alone, shivering, I happened to glance up. I stood, I froze, blinking up through the drift, the drift, the silent drift of blinding snow. I saw the high hotel windows, the lights, the shadows. What's it like up there? I thought. Are fires lit? Is it warm as breath? Who are all those people? Are they drinking? Are they happy? Do they even know I'm HERE?

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    The thing I miss most from home, is having a home.

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    Tell a child, that he will soon be homeless; he will slowly detach from the world. Tell that same child that he is now homeless, he will abandon all foundations. Tell the child he has a home again, he may return to Earth from his travels, but he will never want to see this world again.

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    The bell of Limehouse Church rang as each of them, in this house, drifted into sleep - suddenly once more like children who, exhausted by the day's adventures, fall asleep quickly and carelessly. A solitary visitor, watching them as they slept, might wonder how it was that they had arrived at such a state and might speculate about each stage of their journey towards it: when did he first start muttering to himself, and not realise that he was doing so? When did she first begin to shy away from others and seek the shadows? When did all of them come to understand that whatever hopes they might have had were foolish, and that life was something only to be endured? Those who wander are always objects of suspicion and sometimes even of fear: the four people gathered in this house by the church had passed into a place, one might almost say a time, from which there was no return. The young man who had been bent over the fire had spent his life in a number of institutions - an orphanage, a juvenile home and most recently a prison; the old woman still clutching the brown bottle was an alcoholic who had abandoned her husband and two children many years before; the old man had taken to wandering after the death of his wife in a fire which he believed, at the time, he might have prevented. And what of Ned, who was now muttering in his sleep?

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    The mission sat in a converted store front on the corner of a medium-busy street. There was a small crowd gathered in front - no real surprise, since they gave out food and clothing, all all you had to do was spend a few moments of your life listening to the good reverend explain why you were going to Hell. It seemed like a pretty good bargain, even to me, but I wasn't hungry.

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    There should never be any blame or shame in being homeless.

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    To a homeless man, home is literally where the heart is.

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    The worst poverty isn’t about not having enough money to survive. Poverty of love is the worst thing you can be deprived of.

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    We’re going to find your hobo. We’re going to work hard—work nights. Liv, we’re going to put our balls into it.” She hugged her tightly. “When did we get balls?” Livia loved her ridiculous sister. “Just now.

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    What do you have there?” Mouse perked up at her interest. “I’m making ski masks to have on hand for bank robberies. Last night I finished the fingerless mermaid gloves for Eve. She likes her fingers free for gunplay.” Mouse’s needles clicked together in a peaceful rhythm.

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    When an officer finds themselves arresting pastors that are feeding people who have nothing, they should know they’re on the wrong side.

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    When the elevator doors open there is only one other person inside it, a homeless man with electric blue sunglasses and six plastic grocery bags filled with rags. "Close the doors, dammit," he yells as soon as we step inside. "Cam't you see I'm blind?" [¶¶¶¶¶¶...] From the back, the homeless man shoves between us, his bounty rustling in his arms. "Stop yelling," he shouts. though we stand in utter silence. "Can't you tell that I'm deaf?

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    When the elevator doors open there is only one other person inside it, a homeless man with electric blue sunglasses and six plastic grocery bags filled with rags. "Close the doors, dammit," he yells as soon as we step inside. "Can't you see I'm blind?" [¶¶¶¶¶¶...] From the back, the homeless man shoves between us, his bounty rustling in his arms. "Stop yelling," he shouts. though we stand in utter silence. "Can't you tell that I'm deaf?

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    When we feel haunted, it is the pull of our own home we're experiencing, but a more upsetting possibility is that the past has become homeless, and we are offering it a place to inhabit in the present.

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    When you look away from a homeless person, you diminish their humanity and your own.

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    A homeless man standing at the off-ramp: the question in these moments isn't whether Jesus is in Him, but in me.

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    The very concept of home has become tarnished, misty, elusive. As never before, we are living in a rootless age. So many of us are refugees, living out of suitcases, car trunks, cardboard boxes, desperate to go back to a home that no longer exists.

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    We better get over to Beckett’s if you want to see how my day goes—before his crowd gets too raunchy.” Blake stood up and held out his hand. “It’s eight thirty in the morning. How raunchy could they be?” Livia wondered what, exactly, Beckett did for a living. Her question was soon answered. Everything bad.

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    What would it hurt for me to give that homeless guy a couple bucks? Who the hell cares if he spends it on beer? Maybe beer is a step up for him from the harder stuff that knocked him onto the streets in the first place. Maybe, just maybe, he’s actually going to spend it on food (homeless people do eat, right?). Maybe, he really is a desperate human being who is trying to change his situation.

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    Whenever a homeless person speaks to me in the USA, I always assume that I am speaking to a police officer and play along with the suspected charade.

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    Whenever Ingrid and I got out of the suburbs, into Berkeley or San Francisco, and saw how other people lived, Ingrid would cry at the smallest of things- a little boy walking home by himself, a discarded cardboard sign saying HUNGRY PLEASE HELP. She would snap a picture, and by the time she lowered her camera, tears would already be falling. I always felt kind of guilty that I didn't feel as sad as she did, but now, watching Dylan, I think that's probably a good thing. I mean, you see a million terrible things every day, on the news and in the paper, and in real life. I'm not saying that it's stupid to feel sad, just that it would be impossible to let everything get to you and still get some sleep at night.