Quotes About Belonging

It's that sacred place where your soul is at rest because all the people you love most are there.

Thistle House is for people who love and care for one another. We respect one another in this house, Emmeline. We carry one another's burdens. We weep for one another and we laugh with one another. We hold one another by the hand when the lights go out and when the way seems hopeless. We work together and we share the table together and we pray together. No matter how old we are or what we are called.

Love, in its own way, had been creating a home for all of us as we searched for that place where we belonged. Love was home.

Home isn't a place where everything stays the same; it's a place where you are safe and loved despite nothing staying the same. Change always happens. Always.

Doesn't love make a home? Doesn't love make a family?

Home isn't a place where everything stays the same; it's a place where you are safe and loved despite nothing staying the same.

This is why I wanted to write this book, to tell about a place I love that doesn't belong to me but feels like it is mine, and how that feels marvelous and exceptional. All the things that are wrong in the world seem conquered by a library's simple unspoken promise: Here I am, please tell me your story; here is my story, please listen.

bookshelves-full-of-books family.

This is why I wanted to write this book, to tell about a place I love that doesn't belong to me but feels like it is mine, and how that feels like a marvelous and exceptional thing. All the things that are wrong in the world seems conquered by a library's simple unspoken promise: Here is my story, please listen; here I am, please tell me your story.

Libraries are physical spaces belonging to a community where we gather to share information. There isn't anywhere else that fits that description.

While very small, unless our childhood was damaged, those around us did their best to keep us absolutely safe, warm, cared for, loved. We leave that behind as we grow to adulthood, but we'll always be looking for it again, always be wanting to recreate the security and the validation that was ours in the early years. 'In love' holds out the promise that our beloved will make us the centre of their world, and for ever. No wonder it's an obsessive compulsion. We

I wonder where love really is. Good feelings. Happiness. They're someplace, I know. I feel that. But without Father and Mother, how do I get there?

I had a stack of books of fabulous contemporary writers who'd left their roots and who seemed invigorated thereby. Isabel Allende from Chile to California, Clarice Lispector from Russian to Brazil, Haruki Murakami from Japan to Italy, Kazuo Ishiguro from Japan to England. I knew I wasn't going back to New England, that I'd found my real homeland. North California was where my characters wanted to be.

When you're with the person you love, you're home.

It's so good to have friends from home, don't you think so?" "I haven't lived there for a very long time." "It's your roots that count." "Plants and trees have roots. People have legs. »

Everyone there seemed to need an audience to be a version of themselves they were happy with,

I believe we all belong to a larger thing. If you wish, you can call it God, but God is different from religion.

But the truth is, home's an illusion. We try to create this place that's supposed to make us feel happy or safe, when in truth it's the people who are around us that matter. Where we are has nothing to do with it.

Because being with her felt so right. It was right.

Are you one of his teammates?" "Yeah," Adam said, and it wasn't a lie because according to some people, both he and Tony were playing for the other team . Which made them teammates of a sort.

The damage, the fatigue, the imperfections. That's how they recognize me; Why I belong to them.

I mourn my old life here. We barely scraped by, but I knew where I fit in, I knew what my place was in the tightly interwoven fabric that was our life. I wish I could go back to it because, in retrospect, it seems so secure compared to now, when I am so rich and famous and so hated by the authorities in the capitol.

I miss home badly sometimes. But then I remember there's nothing left to miss anymore. I feel safer here.

I send a silent thank-you to Dalton for suggesting I wash off the makeup. How ridiculous, how perverse I would feel presenting that painted Capitol mask to these people. The damage, the fatigue, the imperfections. That's how they recognize me, why I belong to them.