Quotes About Home

Yes, I am here. And you are lucky to be here too after all the absurd things you've done since you left home.

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.

His house was perfect, whether you liked food, or sleep, or work, or story-telling, or singing, or just sitting and thinking, best, or a pleasant mixture of them all.

I think God has planned the strength and beauty of youth to be physical. But the strength and beauty of old age is spiritual. We gradually lose the strength and beauty that is temporary so we'll be sure to concentrate on the strength and beauty that is forever. And so we'll be eager to leave the temporary deteriorating part of us and be truly homesick for our eternal home. If we stayed young and strong and beautiful we might never want to leave.

This wish to wander, to meet different kinds of people, is there something arrogant about it, something a little frivolous and perverse? Where will she go to make a home for herself when every home seems too sunk in its roots, too predictable

when I see you here amidst all this, I realise that I proposed to a very small part of you. I thought I was giving you a home and a position, but here I see that I am taking you away from so much.

The disintegration of rational society started in the drift from the hearth and the family," says Chesterton. "The solution must be a drift back.

Summer makes me suicidal. It sucks all the magick out of life, and even sleeping becomes an exercise in fruitless brutality. I cannot comprehend what it is in the souls who await this misery. Nothing worthwhile can survive the heat. The birds and the bees are harbingers of hell, ushering in a season of disease. There is nothing in these months that speaks to me. It conspires to keep me from ever reaching home.

In my memories it was always December. December became another word for home to me. Then there were other times when I would swear the past almost had a personality. At those times I thought of it as Nostalgia. Nostalgia is the only friend that stays with you forever.

We always watched horror movies. As a child I remember sitting up into the early hours of the morning watching horror movies with my father. I still watch horror movies and read horror novels because they remind me of "home." Nostalgia, you could say.

All the old stories have it wrong, because it's not the ghost that haunts the house; it's the house that haunts the ghost. I feel lost out here, and everything reminds me that I'm not quite real. In the end it's always home that damns us.

She herself has been taken by surprise at how much it matters to her, this buried question from long ago. She has thought of Salome many times over the years, of course she has. Whenever her mind has strayed in the direction of home, or no, that is, the farm, not her home any more, whenever her mind strays to the farm there lots of stones to turn over, and Salome is one of them. But that particular stone never seems to find a resting place, no matter how often it's turned.

But this home over here: it needed paint but had flowers neatly planted all the way around it. That one over there had a tire swing out front, tied to a fat magnolia tree. Behind another, a lush vegetable garden. You got to fight not to give into despair, he told himself. You got to see the good that's mixed in with the bad.

Middle age is having a choice between two temptations and choosing the one that'll get you home earlier.

Here is the door of my mom's house, well-remembered childhood portal. Here is the yard, and a set of wires that runs from the house to a wooden pole, and some fat birds sitting together on the wires, five of them lined up like beads on an abacus.

Did you know that the state song of Kansas is 'Home on the Range'?

be here teaching you, I could be home sitting on my comfortable

Why are grown-ups constantly running out of straws? I offered to bring some more straws from home, but Mrs. Cooney said she didn't want them. "Nah-nah-nah boo-boo," Michael whispered when I went to sit in the hall. I was in love with Mrs. Cooney, but she sure wasn't in love with me.

wish I had a penguin. Penguins are cool. But my parents won't get me one because they live in Antarctica. Penguins, that is. Not my parents. My parents live at home with me. "EEEEEEEK!" screamed this

It is parents and educators who need to create a climate that clearly communicates a moral code in which cruelty is neither tolerated nor ignored. In a home

We can build such a sanctuary by returning to the fundamental pleasures of home and family, of good books, and most important, to the joy of worshiping God. If our happiness is dependent upon these, the outside world can tumble about us and we can still have peace.

I love California; I practically grew up in Phoenix.

the soul's frail dwelling-house

She'd just committed to doing something she'd sworn never to do again. She was going home. She was going where the devil lived.