Quotes About Home

You are my everlasting home. Don't you ever be afraid. I am enough. We are enough.

I was not sorry for loving Charleston or for leaving it. Geography had made me who I was.

This Mary I'm talking about sits in your heart all day long, saying, "Lily, you are my everlasting home. Don't you ever be afraid. I am enough. We are enough.

It was unthinkable. Unmarried daughters didn't go off to live unprotected on their own in a foreign place. They lived at home with their mothers, and when there was no mother, with their sisters, and when there were no sisters, with their brothers.

There was a feeling in me like rising water. It broke over me, finally, leaving behind the thing I knew, but didn't know. Nazareth had never been my home. Jesus had been my home.

I wondered how it was possible I had found words out there in the world but could lose them in the house where I was born--Sarah Grimke

How, though, could anyone be born while quarantined in this house?

She has been the keeper of home for me, and I have been the keeper of journey for her. And now we look for the lost portion in each other.

Each Bombayite inhabits his own Bombay.

The first thing that a new migrant sends to his family back home isn't money; it's a story. Of the arduous journey here, the snow on the streets, the rude immigration agent or the kindly social worker; the lights of the Eiffel Tower or the cold reception from the cousins with whom he's staying.

The path has a cottage garden on both sides; clumps of old-fashioned flowers ran all over each other: lamb's ear, mint, & rhubarb, roses, forget-me-nots, bleeding hearts & wisteria. I walked very slowly, savoring. At the end of the slate path was the house, very recognizable now... As nearly perfect a little place as I ever lived in is how Beatrix described it.

My dad could go to work, he could get raises, he could be thanked for his contributions, he got a pay-check for his labor, but that didn't happen for moms. The best they could hope for would be a crayon valentine or a squashed, limp dandelion flower offered up from the damp hand of their wide-eyed and innocent child. Which wasn't nothing. In all my days I'd never considered anything to be more important than home. In a chaotic world, it was sanctuary; it was where love grew.

Once upon a time .... I want to have a little house with sunlight on the floor, A chimney with a rosy hearth and lilacs by the door. (Nancy Bird Turner)

For this was Christmas, which had always been a time of magic, to him and to all the world. This was a brightness, a shining festival, and while its enchantment was on the world the charmed circle of his family and home would be protected against any invasion from outside.

To an outsider the dinosaur is impossible to ignore, but for those within the home, the hopelessness of evicting the beast forces them to pretend it isn't there. That's the only way they can coexist. Lies, excuses, and secrets are as common as air in these homes, creating tremendous emotional chaos for children.

It was nine-thirty on Christmas Eve. As I crossed the long entrance hall of Monk's Piece on my way from the dining room, where we had just enjoyed the first of the happy, festive meals, toward the drawing room and the fire around which my family were now assembled, I paused and then, as I often do in the course of an evening, went to the front door, opened it and stepped outside.

The old man kept going about how he could never keep her home, how she loved to roam. He said she should have been a sheep in the foothills of Scotland. Now if that wasn't a load of shit I don't know what is. I'll tell you why that sheep roamed. The fences around here was held up with goddamn binder twine and half-assed prayers. That's why.

I'm going to walk you home. I know the way. Maybe, but the streets are dangerous. I don't want anything to happen to you. My door is about five feet from yours. What could happen? You never know.

But if your two-hundred-square-foot home was going to stay in one place

those new, fancy ones. With granite

We'll find home with each other, Shaye. For the rest of our lives. That's my promise to you. For always.

Home isn't a safe place where everything stays the same; it's a place where you are safe and loved despite nothing staying the same.

Home is the normal--whatever place you happen to start from and return to without having to answer questions. It's a metaphor that may seem to fit reduced expectations. We no longer seek towers that would reach to the heavens; we've abandoned attempts to prove that we live in a chain of being whose every link bears witness to the glory of God. We merely seek assurance that we find ourselves in a place where we know our way about.

Lucy settled into August's kitchen as if they were a family.