Quotes About Home

You honor our humble abode,' said Bean. 'I do, don't I,' said Peter with a smile.

The house always smells like good food," said Piotr. "It's the perfume of love.

America. The enemy. The rival. The land of jeans and rock and roll, of crime and capitalism, of poverty and oppression. Of home and freedom.

Thus a man hates the house they lived in together, because either he does not change it, so that it is as dead as his wife, or because he does change it, so that it is no longer half of their making.

Then you're hired, Lieutenant. I can abide a life outside the IF, but I can't abide life without my wife's stir-fry.

And why shouldn't a grown man live with his mother? Mothers were a rare and precious commodity and if you had one, why in the world would leave her?

Now that they had a secure hiding place almost a home it did not even seem a hardship that they could only meet infrequently and for a couple of hours at a time. What mattered was that the room should exist. To know that it was there inviolate was almost the same as being in it.

Any place you love is the world to you.

Back home, he sleeps in Clarence's bed. Then he moves across and arranges the pillows beside the ghost of his wife. All three of them lie down together. The pulse of Louis Armstrong sounds out from the record player, the notes moving tenderly through his torment.

When he returned from the war he said to Nurit that he wasn't sure that all of him had come home.

Al cielo non chiedo altro che una casa piena di libri e un giardino pieno di fiori

The strength of a nation derives from the integrity of the home.

If there is righteousness in the heart, there will be beauty in the character. If there is beauty in the character, there will be harmony in the home. If there is harmony in the home, there will be order in the nations. When there is order in the nations, there will peace in the world.

Jesucristo dijo: «En la casa de mi padre hay muchas mansiones».

Suttree among others, sad children of the fates whose home is the world, all gathered here a little while to forestall the going there.

You go back home and everthing you wished was different is still the same and everthing you wished was the same is different.

When the Papayuna is pining you need to call home.

He was wounded in an enemy country far from home and although his eyes took in the alien stones about yet the greater void beyond seemed to swallow up his soul.

The house was built in 1872. Seventy-seven years later his grandfather was the first to die in it. What others had lain in state in that hallway had been carried there on a gate or wrapped in a wagonsheet or delivered crated up in a raw pineboard box with a teamster standing at the door with a bill of lading. The ones that came at all. For the most part they were dead by rumor. A yellowed scrap of newsprint. A letter. A telegram.

The void has no stake in the world's continuing existence. It's home as well to countless millions of meteorites. Some of them enormous. Trundling across the blackness at forty miles a second. I think if there were anything to care it would have cared by now.

Dustfinger closed his eyes and listened. He was home again.

It hadn't been easy to reach the city where Jacob had grown up. The borders in his world were more tightly guarded than the island of the Fairies.

Fox squeezed past him, feeling his warmth like a home.

It's a good idea to have your own books with you in a strange place