Quotes About Belonging

Nationalism is as thin as a thread, perhaps that's why many feel it must be anxiously guarded

Naoma, and to the rest of the world she was Um

I need someone to love me,Need somebody to carry me home to San FranciscoAnd bury my body there.

I survive at the edge of friends circles.

I'm not good at having friends. I mean, I can make myself useful to people. I can fit in. I get invited to parties and I can sit at any table I want in the cafeteria. But actually trusting someone when they have nothing to gain from me just doesn't make sense. All friendships are negotiations of power.

I guess it's true; no one will ever love you like your family.

Reading about Bordertown was the first time I saw people like me in speculative fiction. Messed-up kids, making messsed-up choices. I couldn't be a magician's apprentice or a pig keeper who might or might not be a king's son or a princess with a prophecy hanging over my head. But I could, maybe, somehow, be part of a community of artists who loved magic.

You'll know you're really one of us when you get your name

I take a deep breath, at home and homesick all at the same time.

Cosa sarei potuta diventare se avessi smesso di preoccuparmi della morte, del dolore, di tutto? Se avessi smesso di cercare un senso di appartenenza? Invece di avere paura, sarei diventata io quella da temere.

I gobble the food down, trying to imagine that I am sitting at the table with them. Trying to imagine myself as their daughter again, and not what's left of her. A cuckoo trying to fit back into the egg.

Even if, by some miracle, I could be better than them, I will never be one of them

I wonder what it would be like, to never have to be alone.

Looking at their faces, I suddenly realize I know them. It's the Latin Club. Diego, Jenny, Ashley, Mike, and David. And their advisor, Ms. Esposito. Geeks, one and all. My people. 'What are you doing?' My words come out slurred. 'Bringing Bacchanalia to Wallingford,' said Jenny. 'And you're going to help us.

On this side of the grave we are exiles, on that citizens. —Henry Ward Beecher

Pasé gran parte de mi vida cuidando mi corazón. Lo guardé tan bien que podía comportarme como si no tuviera ninguno. Incluso ahora, es una cosa raída, carcomida y escabrosa. Pero es tuyo

I taught myself to call them unmother and unfather. I keep the habit to remind myself of what they were to me, and what they will never be again. Remind myself that there is nowhere that I belong and no one to whom I belong.

I like you," I tell him. "I like playing pretend with you." "Pretend?" he echoes, as though he's not sure if I'm insulting him. ... "Of course we're pretending! We don't belong together, but it's fun anyway.

Everyone knows that trekkers and whatever starwarsians call themselves aren't supposed to have anything to do with one another.

He told me I could live in a corner of the world, like I was doing now, and think I was happy, or I could live in the whole world and know where I belonged," Peter said.

it is precisely in these banalities that the unhomely stirs, as the violence of a racialized society falls most enduringly on the details of life: where you can sit, or not; how you can live, or not; what you can learn, or not; who you can love, or not.

Ce privilege d'etre partout chez soi n'apppartient qu'aux rois, aux filles et aux voleurs

It is not a simple thing to decide where we fit, for at one time or another in our lives we manage to organize in every imaginable social arrangement...We have names to label each as self, and we believe without reservation that this system of taxonomy will guarantee the entity, the absolute separateness in each of us, but the mechanism has no discernible function in the center of a crowded city; we are essentially nameless, most of our time.

The ideal of perfect Success is an ideal belonging to the same sort of individual as the inventor of Equal Rights of man and Perfectibility.