Quotes About Belonging

Before, I wanted to say: "I found love!" But now, I want to say: "I found a person. And he belongs to me and I belong to him.

Basically, we were misfits, we were people who were looking for a tribe—we didn't feel comfortable in society, so we were looking for our own society

nerdier, more sensitive bunch who weren't interested in perpetuating the malice and exclusion they had felt growing up. "People made me feel bad when I was a kid," says Pedersen, "so why would I want to go out of my way to make people feel rotten, like somehow they don't belong or they don't cut the mustard?

People made me feel bad when I was a kid," says Pedersen, "so why would I want to go out of my way to make people feel rotten, like somehow they don't belong or they don't cut the mustard?

Being Palestinian," I said, "means never having to say you're sorry.

A banal mysticism, which is so banal that all the mysticism seems to have evaporated long ago, binds 'us' to the homeland - that special place which is more than a place, more than a geophysical area.

Not only would I never want to belong to any club that would have me for a member--if elected I would wear street shoes onto the squash court and set fire to the ballroom curtains.

They weren't my family and it wasn't my holiday, but I was orphaned and an atheist and I would take what I could get.

Black people live their whole lives in a fantasy world, it's just not their fantasy.

Julie wanted to die of his own whiteness, to be drowned in the tide of his embarrassment on behalf of all uncool white people everywhere when they tried to be cool.

The odd agglomeration of Warshaws, the product of a long and determined program of overseas adoptions, with its combination of Jews and Koreans, intellectuals, space cadets, and sharpies, no two of them related by blood, seemed to offer me the best chance yet to wire my wandering meteor to the armillary sphere of a family.

But there is no Messiah of Sitka. Landsman has no home, no future, no fate but Bina. The land that he and she were promised was bounded only by the fringes of their wedding canopy, by the dog-eared corners of their cards of membership in an international fraternity whose members carry their patrimony in a tote bag, their world on the tip of the tongue.

The new porch felt sound and solid under the weight of him. Like the rest of the house, it was not and would never be his property, but in those years his ambition was not to own a piece of the world. Just to keep that piece from falling down or burning up around him would suffice.

They're all Jewish, superheroes. Superman, you don't think he's Jewish? Coming over from the old country, changing his name like that. Clark Kent, only a Jew would pick a name like that for himself.

Suitcase City wasn't a store. It was a place. It was Los Angeles. Los Angeles was the kind of place where everybody was from somewhere else and nobody really dropped anchor. It was a transient place.

She will remain sane and she will live as she was meant to live, richly and deeply, among others of her kind, in full possession and command of her gifts.

Venture too far for love, she tells herself, and you renounce citizenship in the country you've made for yourself.

It's the country that would have him, since he lacked the necessary papers for more promising places.

What most people need, then, is a place of community that has purpose, order, and meaning.

My name is Bastian," said the boy. "Bastian Balthazar Bux." "That's a rather odd name," the man grumbled. "All those Bs. Oh well, you can't help it. You didn't choose it. My name is Carl Conrad Coreander.

Hay seres que sin saber bien por qué, se sienten sin raíces en este mundo. Lo que los demás llaman realidad les parece un espejismo, un sueño confuso y a menudo angustioso. Se sienten condenados a vivir en este mundo como si se tratara de un exilio en tierra hostil. Con nostalgia incurable añoran otra realidad que creen recordar como una patria lejana, sin poder formular nada concreto sobre ella.

Perhaps the home I am homesick for is still there, after all.

To belong is to understand the tacit codes of the people you live with; it is to know that you will be understood without having to explain yourself.

A man who gives himself to the possession of aliens leads a Yahoo life… . He is not one of them… . In my case my effort for these years to live in the dress of Arabs, and to imitate their mental foundation, quitted me of my English self, and let me look at the West and its conventions with new eyes, and destroyed it all for me. At the same time I could not sincerely take on the Arab skin: it was an affectation only.