Quotes About Home

Because it's everything a person needs to live a decent life. It has a stove for heat. A fridge to keep your food cold and a stove to cook it when you're ready to eat it. It has a bathtub and a shower to get you clean after your chores and a bed to lie down in at the end of the day. And that's all a person really needs. And I think the whole trouble with us is that we think we need so much more.

was important to feel at home while at home.

Simon came and found me in time, and from then on they'd call him to come get me. Since he couldn't be reached at work, and he didn't come home until six, and since it caused a great stampede to scare me in any way, I found plenty of time to pursue equine grace.

I have to go," I said. "Thanks for the tents." I ran all the way back in the rain. But… back to what? It wasn't like this rented patch of dirt was any kind of shelter. It wasn't really much of anything. But just at the moment, it was all we had. I had no choice but to think of it as home.

Once, my father chastised me in the car on the way home because he said I didn't act like I wanted to be there. I didn't want to be there. Nobody had warned me that I was supposed to act.

Immediately he felt a pushback against sharing. These other people were at home. He was not. They'd had time to adjust to the energy of the room and the people, which were familiar to begin with. He had not. He pushed the feeling away again and did it anyway. "My

I look back because I felt at home with May and Everett, as much as I ever have anywhere. I don't want that time to be gone. But it is gone, and even if I had not left, still it would be gone. Only for the time I was meant to be there could I feel so at peace.

That's the thing about this other side we're on. There is no landscape. If you want to see things in any kind of context, you have to pick a context. You have to take one from home.

can't make the world alcohol-free, and I wouldn't try. Those are things I can't control. But I control my home. And when I walk into the dining room or the kitchen and find an open bottle of booze in my living space, that's over the line. It has nothing to do with judging anybody else. I just know how I want to live in my own home.

Since the tendency to create an image of God seems to exist within young children whether or not they have religious influences in their home, I would say that this tendency is a creation gift from the Creator God.

Leaving home's a cinch. It's the staying, once you've found it, that takes courage.

When one is traveling, everything looks brighter and lovelier. That does not mean it IS brighter and lovelier; it just means that sweet, kindly home suffers in comparison to tarted-up foreign places with all their jewels on.

When little ones say they want to go home, they almost never mean it. They mean they are tired of this particular game and would like to start another.

Tamburlaine's house seemed more a place where books kept their people than where people kept their books.

The nicest room you've ever lived in doesn't have to be clean and white or full of translucent fresh monkfish slices with pea shoots delicately balanced on top. It can just be the place you were happiest and safest from the wind.

Doors opened at seven, the show started at eight. In pubs and clubs and house parties across the galaxy, the viewers at home were drunk by six.

That's what a map is, you know. Just a memory. Just a wish to go back home - someday, somehow.

Some kinds of hurt almost feel good, you know? Familiar. Like an ugly couch in your parents' house with the springs all bare where your daddy slapped you once for coming home late and now when you sleep on it it's like one of those Indian fellas napping on nails but it makes you feel like you come from somewhere. Hurts like home.

Quando alguém está a viajar, tudo parece mais luminoso e mais agradável, o que não significa que seja mais luminoso e mais agradável, significa apenas que o lar terno e aprazível sofre em comparação com lugares desconhecidos aprimorados, com tudo o que têm de melhor à mostra.

A house is a kind of box you put a girl in.

He was the one who'd come back to life not fifteen minutes ago. Whenever he got sick at home, Aunt Elizabeth and Tabitha made a tremendous fuss with hot water bottles and tinctures and sweets and kisses. It only stood to reason that they should all make an extra-tremendous fuss now. After all, when you rose from the grave in England, people tended to make whole religions out of you.

Their happiness was the kind which is fashioned of the comfortable disorder of sauvignon bottles and coffee cups in the sink, paperback thrillers with split spines on the nightstand, bathrobes hung haphazard on high-backed, brocade-seated chairs, shutters left open all night, and the hallway ever in need of new paint.

When one is travelling, everything looks brighter and lovelier. That does not mean it is brigther and lovelier; it just means that sweet, kindly home suffers in comparasion to tarted-up foreign places with all their jewels on.

The hinterlands . Where the criminals and the carnivals and the concatenating counterfeiters of no morals to speak of make a home.