Quotes About Belonging

We yield to none in our love, admiration and respect for the Buddha-the Dharma-the Sangha. They are all ours. Their glories are ours and ours their failures.

But I don't think anybody with any self-respect would admit to being Goth

When you know and respect your Inner Nature, you know where you belong. You also know where you don't belong.

Marks of Identity is, among other things, the expression of the process of alienation in a contemporary intellectual with respect to his own country.

While I have the utmost respect for people who practice the Christian faith, the fact is, as everyone knows, I am as Jewish as a matzo ball or kosher salami.

Don't go the distance trying to fit in the crowd and be accepted by others. Accept and respect yourself first. Loving thyself also goes with this."-Elizabeth's Quotes

I love you - I am at rest with you - I have come home.

Don't leave my embrace for here in my arms is your place.

There is something very romantic about the orphan figure in American literature.

I'm yours. If you'll have me, I'm yours

We need you to come home.

You are all I ever need.

I want to know why you love me.Because I don't make sense without you. You're part of me.

This is my homeland; no one can kick me out.

La identidad y la posesión forman parte del dominio del ego. A través del ego nos apegamos a una ideología, a un partido político, a una persona y a nuestras opiniones fragmentadas y apasionadas.

And what is strangest of all, most unnatural of all, is that the finger hasn't got the slightest desire to be on the hand, to be with the others;

With his head thrust forward like a ram, Baryba pushed his way through to the front. For some reason this was necessary, he felt with all his guts that it was necessary. He clenched his iron jaws. Something bestial stirred in him, something he hungered for, some murderous instinct. To be with everybody, to howl like everybody, to hit the one that everybody else was hitting. ("A Provincial Tale")

I was free again—that is, rather, I was included again in the well-constructed, infinitely stretching Assyrian rows.

If only I had a mother, the way the ancients had. I mean my own mother. And if for her I could be —not the Builder of the Integral, and not number D-503, and not a molecule of the One State, but just a piece of humanity, a piece of her own self, trampled, crushed, outcast . . .

Nabokov once answered a question he must have been tired of being asked: "My private tragedy, which cannot, indeed should not, be anybody's concern, is that I had to abandon my natural language." That something is called a tragedy, however, means it is no longer personal. One weeps out of private pain, but only when the audience swarms in to claim understanding and empathy do they call it tragedy. One's grief belongs to oneself; one's tragedy, to others.

I grew up with the dread of seeing piles of old newspapers collect dust and used matches put back into matchboxes. But more than that, I dreaded the memories that were not mine, yet were so adamant to be heard and remembered as the only memories that mattered.

One smiling woman shook my hand and said, 'My, but you speak English so beautifully.' She had meant to compliment me, but I was so astonished,, I didn't know what to say. I realized she had seen only my outer self — my Japanese face — and addressed me as a foreigner. I knew then that I would always be different, even thought I wanted so badly to like my white American friends.

the land of Israel would unite the people of Israel, not, God forbid, divide them.

You can kiss your family and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but a the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you.