Quotes About Belonging

Our voices sound kinder in the skin of our own language.

Does she belong to you, Finnikin?" Yata asked, her eyes piercing. "No," he said after a moment. "But she belongs to my heart. I feel her absence strongly and it brings me . . . sorrow.

I think the worst thing that ever happened to me was leaving home," she says honestly. "Why?" "Because I miss it like you'd never believe, and then I go away from this place and I miss here too. I'm scared I'm going to spend the rest of my life in a state of yearning, regardless of where I am.

Hannah's house has been unfinished ever since I can remember. Deep down I think that's always been a comfort to me, because people don't leave unfinished houses.

When he felt her fingers, he flinched; he had not been touched with such gentleness since his childhood. He was no stranger to women and had felt their hands on all parts of his body, but her touch made him feel like he belonged some place.

Froi didn't know where home was anymore. He wanted to return to Lumatere, and he wanted to stay in Charyn. What strangeness was that? To belong in two kingdoms. He felt a sob rise within him that he swallowed hard the moment he felt Lirah and Gargarin at his shoulders.

And at last Finnikin understood why he had felt so sorrowful and silent these last few days. He knew how to be Finnikin of the Rock to Evanjalin of the Monts. But he had no idea who to be to Queen Isaboe.

Froi noticed that she said "carrying mine," not "carrying you." Lirah and Gargarin still had not acknowledged him as theirs, and he realized that he wanted more from them than they were willing to give. But they seemed broken people who were not good with words, so he kept his silence.

I love this school. I love how uncomplicated it is and the fact that we come from almost two hundred suburbs, so we have to work hard at finding something to hold us together.

Do you belong to the king?" he asked, his voice husky. She gently placed his hand against the beating pulse of her heart. Always, always it beat out of control, and he held his hand to it until he felt it perfectly match his. "Yes, Finnikin," she said. "I belong to the king. I will always belong to him." And there lay the bittersweet despair of what awaited them in the Valley.

as Froi crossed this icy tomb, it occurred to him that he might never see Lord August and Lady Abian again. That he had never told them the truth. Finn and Isaboe had taught him to love, but the village of Sayles had taught him to belong.

Are you a slave?" she asked harshly. "In Serker, only slaves are etched." "With the names of the men that own them," he said, his eyes meeting her. It sickened him to think of Lirah being owned by anyone. "I am a Serker, Lirah," he said softly. "My body is etched with the names of the three women that own me. My queen. My mother. My woman.

I have an aunt and I have a Griggs and this is what it's like to have connections with people.

She clutched him, her fingers digging in like she needed to gather parts of him to act as her own second skin for the rest of her life.

My ideal community? Anywhere but here.

They think I saved them but they saved me. I didn't exist before I belonged to the Fucked-Up Four.

A tradition that we'll never let go. A tradition that I probably will never let go of either, simply because like religion, culture is nailed into you so deep you can't escape it. No matter how far you run.

I think my family has come a long way. The sad thing is that so many haven't. So many have stayed in their own little world. Some because they don't want to leave it, others because the world around them won't let them in.

A different Australia emerged in the 1950s. A multicultural one, and 30 years on we're still trying to fit in as ethnics and we're still trying to fit the ethnics in as Australians.

You can't hate what you're part of. What you are. I resent it most of the time, curse it always, but it'll be part of me till the day I die.

no quiero separarme de él, porque esta noche no quiero nada más que ser parte de él. Porque ser parte de él no es cualquier cosa; más bien lo es todo.

Because without our language, we have lost ourselves. Who are we without our words?

Because being part of him isn't just anything. It's kind of everything.

He knew how it felt to be on the perimeter of relationships, to feel as if you'd never quite belong.