Quotes About Home

A woman who walks with God honors Him in the way she manages her home.

Proverbs 7:11-12—These verses describe, of all things, an adulteress. She is doing the opposite of the wise homemaker who tends to her house and housework. She is "out there," walking the streets, instead of being at home. "Her feet would not stay at home. At times she was outside, at times in the open square, lurking at every corner.

The one small room the house contained was scoured as a seashell. There was a table, a chest, a bedstead with a faded quilt, a spinning wheel, and a small loom. A few ancient kettles hung about the clean-swept hearth. From a square of sunlight on the floor an enormous yellow cat opened one eye to look at them.

THERE WILL BE no Thanksgiving this week," announced Matthew when he came home at noontime the next day. "It seems we have no authority here in Connecticut to declare our own holidays. His Excellency, the new governor, will declare a Thanksgiving when it pleases him.

a woman's place is in the kitchen...sitting in a comfortable chair, with her feet up, drinking a glass of wine and watching her husband cook dinner.

Traveling-to-a-place energy and living-in-a-place energy are two fundamentally different energies

Marriage is a game. They (the anxious and powerful) set the rules. We (the ordinary and subversive) bow obediently before those rules. And then we go home and do whatever the hell we want anyhow.

There's plenty of room in this vehicle for all of us, so make yourself at home, but understand this: Creativity and I are the only ones who will be making any decisions along the way. I recognize and respect that you are part of this family, and so I will never exclude you from our activities, but still—your suggestions will never be followed. You're allowed to have a seat, and you're allowed to have a voice, but you are not allowed to have a vote.

We are not alien visitors to this planet, after all but natural residents and relatives of every living entity here. This earth is where we came from and where we'll all end up when we die, and during the interim, it is our home, And there's no way we can ever hope to understand ourselves if we don't at least marginally understand our home.

Your home is whatever in this world you love more than you love yourself.

Like a dog, I have pack needs; like a cat, he prefers a quieter house. As long as he is married to me, his house will never be quiet.

The sentences still form in my mind, and thoughts still do their little show-off dance, but I know my thought patterns so well now that they don't bother me anymore. My thoughts have become like old neighbors, kind of bothersome but ultimately rather endearing - Mr. and Mrs. Yakkity-Yak and their three dumb children, Blah, Blah and Blah. But they don't agitate my home. There's room for all of us in this neighborhood.

Every city has a single word that defines it, that identifies most poeple who live there. If you could read people's thoughts as they were passing you on the streets of any given place, you would discover that most of them are thinking the same thought. Whatever that majority thought might be - that is the word of the city. And if your personal word does not match the word of the city, then you don't really belong there.

there's no way we can ever hope to understand ourselves if we don't at least marginally understand our home. That is the understanding we need to put our lives in some bigger metaphysical context. Instead, Eustace sees a chilling sight- a citizenry so removed from the rhythm of nature that we march through our lives as mere sleepwalkers, blinded, deafened, and senseless. Robotically existing in sterilized surroundings that numb the mind, weaken the body, and atrophy the soul.

I will always be safe from the random hurricanes of outcome as long as I never forget where I rightfully live.

The most urgent war is always the one fought at home.

For me, going home meant returning to the work of writing because writing was my home, because I loved writing more than I hated failing at writing, which is to say that I loved writing more than I loved my own ego, which is ultimately to say that I loved writing more than I loved myself.

You are a perfect snail: you carry your home on your back.

would happen next, as much as ever. The thing was to resist submersion for as long as possible. She clutched the great tree as if it were a horse. She pressed her cheek against its silent, living flank. She said, "You and I are very far from home, aren't we?" In the dark gardens, in the middle of the quiet city night, the tree did not

I had always thought of home not as a house, or even a place, but a feeling of safety and acceptance, a warm light when the rest of the world was a dark, forbidding place. Whenever my family was around, wherever we were, I felt like I was home.

The butterfly startled at Mary's gesture and floated up, drifting on the breeze, its wings sparkling blue and bright in the late afternoon sunshine. Silence watched it, enthralled, and then her eyes met Michael's. A corner of his mouth cocked up. "Welcome home, m'love.

Indio started forward and took the big man's hand as naturally as he'd taken his mother's. "Come on! Maude's making roast chicken and there'll be gravy and dumplings.

Will you make my house a home, Isabel?

Will you make my home a home, Isabel?