Home Quotes - Page 11

Happy homes are filled with the noise of children; unhappy homes the noise of their parents

In raising my children, I have lost my mind but found my soul.

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.

Christ asks for a home in your soul, where he can be at rest with you, where he can talk easily to you, where you and he, alone together, can laugh and be silent and be delighted with one another.

I gradually became aware that my interiority was inseparable from my exteriority, that the geography of my city was the geography of my soul.

It makes a soul lonely when even your tongue has no home.

When I write, I do not like using ten dollar words. I like the fifty-centers. Everybody has fifty-cents, even those that are too proud to admit it.

With Money we bought the House, with Love we made it our Home!

Home isn't just a house or a city or a place; home is what happens when you're brave enough to love people.

We will go far away, to nowhere, to conquer, to fertilize until we become tired. Then we will stop and there will be our home.

The farther away, the closer the home becomes.

To me, you were more than just a person. You were a place where I finally felt at home.

Your body and spirit, subconscious and conscious - every portion of you recognizes home.  That is why on the moment of arrival, your entire being relaxes into a contented puddle of joy.

home is the isolation within the society from the society

Home, home - a few small rooms, stiflingly over-inhabited by a man, by a periodically teeming woman, by rabble of boys and girls of all ages. No air, no space; an understerilized prison; darkness, disease and smells.

Men? One never knows where to find them. The wind blows them away. They have no roots, and that makes their life very difficult.

Life is only worth living because we hope it will get better and we'll all get home safely.

Aren't we all homeless without a home inside our mind?

Inside my house, nobody was home, except everybody, but it was easy to feel like those were one and the same.

A part of my depression lies, I think, in my unanswered question: Where is home? I feel a sense, always, of trying to find my way back to a place that doesn't exist.