Quotes About Displacement

El mayor escándalo de la política interior kuwaití fue la expulsión de 360.000 palestinos durante los dos años siguientes, una operación de «limpieza étnica» sin parangón desde las matanzas que acompañaron la huida de los palestinos ante las fuerzas israelíes en 1948.

Strike felt abnormally huge and hairy; a woolly mammoth attempting to blend in among capuchin monkeys.

She felt as though she'd suddenly been transported from the distant past into a brash and indifferent present.

In general, when we consider an object in a superposition of two spatially displaced states, we simply ask for the energy that it would take to effect this displacement, considering only the gravitational interaction between the two. The reciprocal of this energy measures a kind of 'half-life' for the superposed state. The larger this energy, the shorter would be the time that the superposed state could persist.

A lesson learned long ago: the human brain was much more sensitive to side-to-side displacement than front-to-back. An evolutionary quirk, presumably, like most things.

Frankly, you're the most homeless person--emotionally--I ever met.

The attempt to make man absolutely at home in this world ended in man's becoming absolutely homeless.

Ours is the century of enforced travel of disappearances. The century of people helplessly seeing others, who were close to them, disappear over the horizon.

Missing, however, are nearly all fauna adapted to us. The seemingly invincible cockroach, a tropical import, long ago froze in unheated apartment buildings. Without garbage, rats starved or became lunch for the raptors nesting in burnt-out skyscrapers.

If you can't go home, there is nowhere to go, and nowhere is the biggest place in the world-indeed, nowhere is the world.

Homelessness–it's not about not having a home. It's about something being seriously fucking wrong.

And it is strange: a few moments after the cars that brought us down drive off, I become aware that already I have discovered something new. Because we do not have a place of our own, nor will have for the next three days, we must invent one. I catch myself, and the eyes of one or two others, searching for a section of the pavement with which we might want to become familiar. We are looking among the concrete slabs for the outline of a home.

Human history seems to me to be one long story of people sweeping down—or up, I suppose—replacing other people in the process.

We belonged nowhere here; we belonged nowhere else.

Life really went backwards. My parents lost everything, all their savings, because we had to run from the Nigerian side to the Biafran side. We were Igbos.

So I'm more at home with my backpack, sleeping in a hotel room or on a bus or on an airplane, than I am necessarily on a bed. It's weird being here. It feels like I'm standing next to my real life.

People leave when life becomes untenable where they are.

Never have I been able to settle in life. Always seated askew, as if on the arm of a chair; ready to get up, to leave.

I think we carry home on our backs.

A lightning flash is stabbed into the sky and jabbed at by other flashes, their crazy neons jittering into word shapes, WHAT IS LOST NOW IS OUR HOME IN THIS WORLD.

She kicked me off the bed!

Pilgrims were people in scientific exile.

I didn't feel at home in life.

I'm like a jew who ends up in the wrong country. I'm not a part. I'm not a member. I'm frozen.