Quotes About Displacement

I feel like I was born in the wrong time.

I've got to confess... I do feel slightly like I've been born in the wrong time.

A thing that happens to migrants is that they lose many of the traditional things which root identity, which root the self.

Here, in the camp, she could tell any old story, these people would have no choice but to believe her. That is not to say that refugee women like her lie, merely that they are uprooted. Their stories barely mean anything even to themselves now. No one listens to them, which is almost like not existing at all.

Yes I don't like to live here,' she said, more to herself than me. Then she turned toward me: 'But if I have learned anything from my life, it's that since I don't belong anywhere, only the movement matters.

You need to stop coming on our website and messing everything up!

didn't belong to her. She said her car was missing a mirror and the trains were knackered, so she'd

Stranger in a strange country.

I have been a stranger here in my own land: All my life

On the day I lost my passport I discovered, at the age of fifty-eight, that losing one's native land implies more than parting with a circumscribed area of soil.

As if I already had some inkling of my own future fate, I was most moved by those of the people here who had no homeland, or even worse, had not just one but two or three, and privately still did not feel sure where they belonged.

Dónde podrás quedarte? ¿dónde sosiego hallarás? en todo puerto extranjero en ningún sitio un hogar.

When people make wars, they make refugees.

Do you understand the sadness of geography?

The trouble with all of us is we are where we shouldn't be.

A lot of people don't understand that refugees especially, are fleeing situations that are affecting their livelihood and their children's livelihood.

How does it feel, how does it feel to be without a home, like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone.

I was born very far from where I'm supposed to be, and so I'm on my way home.

I was born very far from where I'm supposed to be so I'm on my way home.

This place don't make sense to me no more.

He would take refuge in a homey understanding of Faroese ways only to be slapped back to an uncomfortable position as an American by some terrible smell: uncomfortable because he could no more now imagine himself standing at an oak door with a brass knocker, wearing a tie and holding a bottle of Médoc, than he could picture eating rotten meat. He was floating around in cultural hyperspace; nothing felt right.

I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks

We returned to our palaces, these Kingdoms, but no longer at ease here in the old dispensation, with an alien people clutching their gods. I should be glad of another death.

We returned to our places, these Kingdoms, But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation, With an alien people clutching their gods. I should be glad of another death.