Quotes About Home

By Hecate, the goddess I worship more than all the others, the one I choose to help me in this work, who lives with me deep inside my home, these people won't bring pain into my heart and laugh about it.

Lucky is the man who escapes a storm at sea and finds his way home to safe harbor— the man delivered from hardship. We all compete for wealth and power, and for every thousand hearts a thousand hopes. Some wither, some bear fruit. 910But the one who lives from day to day, finding good where he can: he is happy— he is a lucky man.

And, they tell us, we at home Live free from danger, they go out to battle: fools! I'd rather stand three times in the front line than bear One child.

Go home to your wife. Go bury her.

What they say of us is that we have a peaceful time Living at home, while they do the fighting in war. How wrong they are! I would very much rather stand Three times in the front of battle than bear one child.

ELECTRA: ¡Ah, cómo puedes acoger a huéspedes tan altos en su alcurnia, cuando miras la escasez y miseria de tu hogar? CAMPESINO: Nobles dices que son y así se muestra. No importa la pequeñez y pobreza de nuestra casa: si nobles son, con ella han de ajustarse

He's my buddy," she said, then patted my hand. "And he's faithful." Patsy opened the door to her home and shuffled in. "Like the Lord.

The garden looks wonderful, Mama, I would always say when we arrived back at the house. It's chaos, darling. I like chaos.

I think of the security of cages. How violence, cruelty, oppression, become a kind of home, a familiar pattern, a cage, in which we know how to operate and define ourselves…

it's a great thing in life to have a place you can't be moved from - too few of them

Oh, why did nobody warn me? cried Grimes in agony. I should have been told. They should have told me in so many words. They should have warned me about Flossie, not about the fires of hell. I've risked them, and I don't mind risking them again, but they should have told me about marriage. They should have told me that at the end of that gay journey and flower-strewn path were the hideous lights of home and the voices of children.

any one who has been to an English public school will always feel comparatively at home in prison. It is the people brought up in the gay intimacy of the slums, Paul learned, who find prison so soul destroying.

You must see the garden front and the fountain. He leaned forward and put the car into gear. It's where my family live. And even then, rapt in the vision, I felt, momentarily, like a wind stirring the tapestry, an ominous chill at the words he used--not That is my home, but It's where my family live.

When villagers in Third World countries are asked in surveys, "What is the most important problem in your life?" they consistently respond, "Water." Typically, village families walk several miles to obtain a reliable source of water, and three to four hours per day are spent by water-gatherers in carrying the water to their home.

As long ago as 1860 it was the proper thing to be born at home. At present, so I am told, the high gods of medicine have decreed that the first cries of the young shall be uttered upon the anesthetic air of a hospital, preferably a fashionable one.

It's a funny thing about comin' home. Looks the same, smells the same, feels the same. You'll realize what's changed is you.

That's my Middle West-not the wheat or the prairies or the lost Swede towns, but the thrilling returning trains of my youth, and the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty dark and the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by lighted windows on the snow. I am part of that, a little solemn with the feel of those long winters, a little complacent from growing up in the Carraway house in a city where dwellings are still called through decades by a family's name.

You and I have been happy; we haven't been happy just once, we've been happy a thousand times. . . Forget the past-what you can of it, and turn about and swim back home to me, to your haven forever and ever-even though it may seem a dark cave at times and lit with torches of fury; it is the best refuge for you-turn gently in the water through which you move and sail back.

That's my middle-west - not the wheat or the prairies or the lost Swede towns but the thrilling, returning trains of my youth and the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty dark and the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by lighted windows on the snow.

That's my Middle West - not the wheat or the prairies or the lost Swede towns, but the thrilling returning trains of my youth, and the street lamps, and sleigh bells in the frosty dark and the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by lighted windows on the snow. I am part of that...

And then in a jiffy he was under the high ceiling of his great front room. This was entirely satisfactory. Here, after all, life began. Here he slept, breakfasted, read and entertained.

New York, he supposed, was home—the city of luxury and mystery, of preposterous hopes and exotic dreams.

I'd be a God Damned fool to live anywhere else.

You know, it's funny what you'll miss when you're away from home. Now me, I miss the smell of coffee Ã¢â'¬Â¦ and bacon frying in the morning.