Quotes About Home

The journey is my home.

Whether I'm at the office, at home, or on the road, I always have a stack of books I'm looking forward to reading.

No other success [in life] can compensate for failure in the home.

When the man is at home, his standing in society is well known and quietly taken; but when he is abroad, it is problematical, and is dependent on the success of his manners.

Winning begins at home. It begins with your thoughts and your actions.

I'm fortunate to have had my own level of success. My joys in life are I've got three little kids, and I got to buy a house that I really like, and everyone should have that.

Vous êtes chez vous

There is a sort of American who, instead of going to dance joyously in the public square in his leisure moments, as people of his profession continue to do in a great part of Europe, goes off alone to the depth of his home to drink. This man enjoys two pleasures at once: he dreams of his trade and gets drunk decently within the family home.

I heard a sigh, as though the books were breathing. I felt that this was where I belonged. This was where I lived.

Every woman is only one bad boyfriend or one bad choice away from the street. And she's only one good choice back to the path that will lead her home.

Every time a new house was built, a bucket of peach stones would be found, and even children on their way to school knew that finding one meant luck, whatever the outcome: love forgotten, love gone wrong, love despite all odds, love ever after, love after all this time.

In the dining hall of the home, Stella had seen so much death, that one Saturday morning she'd been compelled to sink down onto the linoleum floor, overwhelmed not so much by the sorrow of it all, but by the human dignity, the almost supernatural ability to face the abyss and still order scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast.

Finding your soul mate is like coming home to a house where everything is familiar. You can walk in the dark and know where everything is.

The house itself was tall and tilty, with green glass in the windows

And then, when Kylie looks back at her house, she has the strangest feeling. The house seems lost to her in some way, as though she were looking at a memory, a place she used to live in and will never forget but one she can't go back to, not anymore.

For a very long time I believed that when we left our home, we left my mother as well. Where our village had stood the burned fields would again become green and her flesh would be in every blade of grass.

It was possible, Richard knew, to be away from home too long, to forget all the things you once knew by heart. He didn't want just his father, he wanted the boy he used to be, someone who could be comforted by the sound of his parents talking in the next room, someone who refused to come into the house for supper until after dusk because that was the hour when deer mysteriously appeared in the driveway.

What belonged to you once, will always belong to you.

I went around the house to the back door thinking, I have been to a dance and a boy has walked me home and kissed me. It was all true. My life was possible.

On the way home he had explained that she wasn't his type. And she had felt too humiliated to retort – or even to be aware, at that moment – that he was not hers.

I don't take up the story and follow it as if it were a road, taking me somewhere... I go into it, and move back and forth and settle here and there, and stay in it for a while. It is more like a house.

I lived when I was young at the end of a long road, or a road that seemed long to me.

How could it be that you could love someone so much and keep it secret from yourself as you woke daily so far from home?

My mother gave Lindsey a meaningful look. 'We are not discussing this further. You can go up to your room and wait or wait with me. Your choice.' Lindsey was dumbfounded. She stared at our mother and knew what she wanted most: to flee, to run out into the cornfield where my father was, where I was, where she felt suddenly that the heart of her family had moved. But Buckley wtood warm against her. ~pg 143; Lindsey, Buckley and Mom