Quotes About Home

And when Quimet saw the doves flying above our roof and only above our roof, his face stopped looking so yellow and he said everything was okay. When the doves got sick of flying they started to come down, first one and then another. They went back in the dovecote like old ladies going to mass, taking little steps and jerking their heads like wind-up toys.

Autumn vineyards rolled up the hills in deep red lines behind my house.

When I grew up there wasn't air-conditioning or anything of that nature, and this old car had a wall thickness of about ten inches. So we had a little warmer house in the winter and a little cooler in the summer.

Depois de tantos anos, deixamos de viver na casa e passamos a ser a casa onde vivemos. - É como se as paredes nos vestissem a alma

Não sei se tenho mais felicidade que tu: possuo uma casa para onde regressar. Tenho os meus pais, tenho os círculos onde me confirmo igual àquilo que os outros esperam de mim. Os que me amam aceitaram que eu tivesse partido. Mas exigem que volte a mesma, reconhecível, como se a viagem fosse um caso passageiro.

A viagem não começa quando se percorrem distâncias, mas quando se atravessam as nossas fronteiras interiores. A viagem acontece quando acordamos fora do corpo, longe do último lugar onde podemos ter casa.

Quem acha doce a terra natal ainda é um tenro principiante; aquele para quem toda a terra é natal já é forte; mas é perfeito aquele para quem o mundo inteiro é um lugar estrangeiro. A alma tenra fixou seu amor num único ponto do mundo; a pessoa forte estendeu o seu amor a todos os lugares; o homem perfeito extinguiu o seu. (Hugo de St. Victor, monge saxão do século XII, citado por Edward Said)

a cidade não é um lugar. É a moldura de uma vida, um chão para a memória. Enrolei a linha, e regressei a casa, o poente avermelhando a paisagem e os flamingos trazendo o céu para junto da terra. Então, ganhei certeza: a cidade em que nasci estava destinada a nascer de mim.

Quien vive en estas casas no es gente —rectifica el administrador. —¿No vive gente? —pregunta Gustavo—. Entonces ¿quién vive? —Ahora quien vive aquí es el miedo —responde.

Meu pai era um homem que enchia o mundo, o pé dele entrava em casa e sentíamos o balanço do seu peso como se, de repente, estivéssemos num pequeno barco". My father was a men that filled the world, his foot entered homeand we felt the the swing of its weight, like, suddenly, we were in a little boat.

Los esclavos no dejan recuerdos, ¿sabéis por qué? Porque no tienen tumba. Un día de estos, nadie más tendrá tumba en Kulumani. Y nunca más habrá memoria de que aquí hubo gente... —Abuelo, vamos a casa... —Ahora ya no hace falta que nos metan en barcos. Santo Tomé está aquí, en Kulumani. Aquí vivimos todos juntos, esclavos y dueños de esclavos, los pobres y los dueños de la pobreza.

I love seeing my family.

El libro es pues la morada "natural" de los exiliados, su consuelo. Y, más allá de eso, una oportunidad de transformar el exilio en ventaja, de darle valor creativo.

Jose Saramago remarks, "The human spirit, though, how often do we need to say it, is the favourite home of contradictions, indeed they do not seem to prosper or even find viable living conditions outside it."6

Unless we can trace our lineage to the original humans and find that we live where they lived, we are all international migrants. Furthermore we are all wanderers. We symbolically carry our homes on our backs, like turtles, snails, and crustaceans -- for the meaning and associations of home are always with us and affect our orientation in space and time, and how we negotiate our way through the world.

My heart was burning for home. For a moment I felt like crying out, but at the moment of greater pain my mother's voice came back to me. It was as if she was here and talking, Stay and take an education, boy. Take it in, That's the main thing.

Knowing this, one autumn afternoon in late October 1979 Peter Sutcliffe answered the front door of his home to be confronted for the sixth time by murder squad detectives who had come to interview him.

The questions piled up like the firewood he would stack just outside the back door back home. 

I'd spent my whole life waiting to awake on an ordinary morning in the town that was destined to be my home, in the arms of the woman I was destined to love, knowing the people and doing the work that would make up the changing but essentially invariable landscape of my particular destiny.

Whenever I'm having a bad day and have an attitude, I stay home. I keep it at home.

The setting sun burned the sky pink and orange in the same bright hues as surfers' bathing suits. It was beautiful deception, Bosch thought, as he drove north on the Hollywood Freeway to home. Sunsets did that here. Made you forget it was the smog that made their colors so brilliant, that behind every pretty picture there could be an ugly story.

I am delighted to be back home in Galway, the place I first came to as a 19-year-old in 1960. It's here where my heart is and will forever be.

It is very hard. Man longs for a permanent home. But he does not know it until it is torn away from him.

Ow, ow, ow, Billy hurt! Billy wanna go home!