Quotes About Belonging

She misses the surety of Soviet patriotism that she grew up with,

Know that the LORD is God. It is he who made us, and we are his; we are his people, the sheep of his pasture. PSALM 100:3

Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy. 1 PETER 2:10

The bride belongs to the bridegroom. The friend who attends the bridegroom waits and listens for him, and is full of joy when he hears the bridegroom's voice. That joy is mine, and it is now complete. JOHN 3:29

The more powerful the group to which we belong, the less likely, generally, we are to question the system that legitimises and confers these privileges.

Home is where the heart is.

Love makes you see a place differently, just as you hold differently an object that belongs to someone you love. If you know one landscape well, you will look at all other landscapes differently. And if you learn to love one place, sometimes you can also learn to love another.

Love makes you see a place differently, just as you hold differently an object that belongs to someone you love.

But you don't have to fit in to be okay. Believe me! I am the not-fitting-in world expert. I have not fit in in maybe five different countries so far. I am homelandless. I even make mistakes when I speak Bulgarian. But it's not big deal, not really. It's not the end of the world, right? It's okay.

It turns out that home is not mostly a place. Home is someone putting her arms around you and saying the words your heart longs to hear: always and everywhere.

Writers, as they gain success, feel like outsiders because writers don't come together in real groups.

Now he is gone as you are gone. But he belongs to me like lost baggage.

I didn't feel at home in life.

And I say to myself that the trouble with life is that people are strangers.

Alone in our place I was a guest.

I'm like a jew who ends up in the wrong country. I'm not a part. I'm not a member. I'm frozen.

For my own family, I would always choose the makeshift, surrogate family formed by various characters unrelated by blood.

She could have taken root. She wanted to be a Rose, somebody's Rose, their Rose—and she would have been company for the flowers. She had new memories to give them, new people to tell them of, people who would help tend to them and keep them. But they warned her. They saved her. Hazel was nobody's Rose. For better or for worse.

There are ways to do things, ways to act with people, and I do not understand them. I cannot understand what people mean when they talk. I do not do things right. I do not feel things right. I do not see things right. I am not...I'm not made of the same thing as everyone else.' The baker took in a deep breath. 'I think if you'll look around, my boy,' he said gently, 'you'll find that no one is quite right. But we all do the best we can.

Something was wrong with him - and down deep he'd known his whole life. Maybe the wards had even said something. (You are not right, boy.) Maybe the other children had. (What's wrong with you?) Maybe it had happened while he watched one child after another walk off with a family from the Eastern Villages, with a merchant or a farmer. (You know no one will ever take you, right?) Maybe he'd even said it to himself.

Tugs used to think that everyone's name was in the dictionary, and when she had realized it was only hers, both Tugs and Button, she felt suddenly fond and possessive of it, as if this book were put here for her guidance alone.

Although I am a typical loner in daily life, my consciousness of belonging to the invisible community of those who strive for truth, beauty, and justice keeps me from feeling isolated.

APART. Such a simple concept. So concrete. So easy to represent on charts or diagrams with dots and pushpins either in or out. Yet real life is not dots. Some of us appear to be in, but we are out. And that is where we want to be. Not just want but need, the way tuna need the sea. Simple: an orientation, not just a choice. A fact. To paraphrase that Boston song, more than a feeling. We are loners. Which means we are at our best, as Orsino says in Twelfth Night, when least in company.

The mob thinks we are maladjusted. Of course we are adjusted just fine, not to their frequency. They take it personally.