Quotes About Belonging

She's just a baby," Camille said. "She's an artist, just like us; she just doesn't know it yet." "She's a baby, Caleb." "She's a Fang," he replied. "That supersedes everything else." They both looked at Annie, who was watching them, smiling, a beautiful, glowing, movie star of a baby. Though the Fangs could not be sure, Annie seemed to be saying, "Count me in.

I was ten when Mike Smiley, half-Indian, skinny, brown-skinned, brought the word jigaboo to school like lunch, or the flu, fed him by his adopted white father who said that's what we called them then. By noon it was done--everyone had a name for what had been bothering them, some thing utterly human as hate.

Did Dolezal really fool those black folks around her? I have a strange feeling she didn't, that many simply humored her. You have to do this with white people, from time to time.

Death most resembles a prophet who is without honor in his own land or a poet who is a stranger among his people.

When I was at home, I felt loved and safe. My sisters were always a safe haven for me. I knew they would always play with me and make me feel like I was one of them.

I realized that I belonged neither to the Hindus nor to the Mussalmans. How could I explain to my wife that while the Brahmins lived on offerings made to their gods, the Rajputs and the Jats had their lands, Aheers and the Gujars their cattle, the Banias their shops, all that the poor Kayasthas had were their brains and their reed pens! And the only people who could pay for their brains and their pens were the rulers who were Muslims!

came to the conclusion that all you have to do is to fall in love with one person to love his or her community.

I came to the conclusion that all you have to do is to fall in love with one person to love his or her community.

I used to think Ming was her favorite. But she's grown too private, too remote. Rachel is lost. And I am too haolefied, what my mother taught me, so we could survive in that other world, the one that killed her

Everyone wanted to tell their stories and to know where they fit in their own fudoki. She was not that different.

They like visiting wherever it is, sure. But this is their home. Everyone likes to come home sooner or later." "If they have a home," Aimee says. "Everyone has a home, even if they don't believe in it," Geof says.

Where the wild things are is where I am most at home.

Families are like little villages. You know where everything is, you know how everything works, your identity is fixed, and you can't really leave, or connect with anything or anybody outside, until your physically no longer there.

Families are like little villages. You know where everything is, you know how everything works, your identity is fixed, and you can't really leave, or connect with anything or anybody outside, until you're physically no longer there.

The reason is that as spiritual seekers we don't fit into any of the groups in the social pecking order.

Well, now, what do you expect? You're His child. Of course you're going to be lonely when you hold yourself from Him.

I told you, nobody goes into foster care for good reasons. Foster care might be better than anything you've ever had in your life so far, and it will still never be as good as what you should have had. If the family you were born into was what it should have been.

I'll come," she said softly. "I will. It would be good to be among family again.

Somehow Christmas was making me feel jumpy inside. All this talk about being together and being happy and celebrating - it felt threatening. Like I shouldn't be part of it. Like I wasn't allowed. And Susan wanted me to be happy, which was scarier still.

I decided I'd changed my mind about home. Home was not Pensacola San Diego Guam or any of the other places we might have lived. In fact home wasn't any particular place at all. Home was my family. Even if they didn't get my jokes sometimes.

How many lived in the fake versions of their countries, in fake versions of other people's countries? Did their lives feel as unreal to them as his own did to him?

Qu'est-ce qu'un pays sinon l'idée qu'on s'en fait ?

When he died, I went about like a ragged crow telling strangers, "My father died, my father died." My indiscretion embarrassed me, but I could not help it. Without my father on his Delhi rooftop, why was I here? Without him there, why should I go back? Without that ache between us, what was I made of?

Why couldn't she be part of that family? rent a room in someone else's life.