Quotes About Refugee

There's nothing like living as a refugee in one's own country to turn a generous soul into a hard little fist.

Every heart to Love will come, but like a refugee

the human heart is a refugee—is standing here always in its open market, shouting out prices, in- audible prices, & wares keep on arriving, & the voices get higher— what are you worth the map of the world is shrieking, any moment of you, what is it worth, time breaks over you and you remain, more of you, more of you, asking your questions, ravishing the visible with your inquiry, and hungry, why are you so hungry…

Tu les as vus livrer le malheureux qui croyait au droit d'asile.

I remember when I was a kid, as a refugee in Egypt, every day, there was always a hope that we'd get to leave tomorrow and we'd get to go somewhere.

I hate light... I feel like at night, it's safer. If anything happens, there's a way to hide at night. Another thing I hate about light is it reminds me about being in a refugee camp and being outside.

I watched the refugee kids swim. They are easy to spot. They are the ones whose mothers stand on the shore watching the horizon instead of their child.

When I was a girl, civil war in Sudan forced me to flee my home town of Wau.

There is a real problem in terms of the refugee flow, the ability of ISIS to infiltrate those refugee flows, our inability to track them.

Still, when someone who is mistreated in their home travels very far and under horrible conditions to get to yours, shouldn't you at least offer them shelter and something to eat and drink until they sort things out? It seems like common courtesy to me.

Enough of Sicily being the refugee camp of Europe. I will not stand by and do nothing while there are landings after landings of migrants.

the man who really loves his country is not the one who refuses to attack it when he has been unjustly driven from it, but the man whose desire for it is so strong that he will shrink from nothing in his efforts to get back there again.

I assume you're a refugee from the dance inside." "I escaped the enemy, captain," I said. I could see the side of his, and his smile. "Ah," he said. "At long last, a promotion.

On my father's side, I'm descended from immigrants, one of whom was a Syrian refugee from the Armenian genocide, and my mother was an immigrant from Germany whose visa had expired and, for a year and change, was undocumented here in the U.S.

A rapidly expanding Syrian refugee policy could create conditions for domestic tragedy.

Here, in the camp, she could tell any old story, these people would have no choice but to believe her. That is not to say that refugee women like her lie, merely that they are uprooted. Their stories barely mean anything even to themselves now. No one listens to them, which is almost like not existing at all.

My father was born on Christmas Day in 1934. He grew up in what is now part of North Korea. When the Korean War began, my father was 16, and he found passage on an American refugee ship,thinking he'd be gone for just a few days, but he never saw his mother or his sister again.

My father came by himself across the North Korean border when he was seventeen. And hasn't seen his brothers or sisters or parents since then. And he died some time ago, but never saw any of his relatives. My mother was a refugee in war-torn Korea.

I am just a refugee from the long slow toothache of English life. It is terrible to love life so much you can hardly breathe!

His face, with its exaggerated shadows and planes of light, looked alien and pained, like a refugee's.

Being a refugee meant being lonely. This was something that was true for them all, regardless of what country they had come from or what circumstances had forced them to flee.

In 1934, the American Jewish charities offered to find homes for 300 German refugee children. We were on the SS Washington, bound for New York, Christmas 1934.

In China, it was hard living as a young girl without my family. I had no idea what life was going to be like as a North Korean refugee. But I soon learned it's not only extremely difficult, it's also very dangerous, since North Korean refugees are considered in China as illegal migrants.

Daddy felt that this country was hopeless in its treatment of Negroes. So he became a refugee from America. He bought a house in Polanco, a suburb of Mexico City, and we were planning to move there when he died. I was fourteen at the time.