Quotes about Home

If the reader thinks he is done, now, and that this book has no moral to it, he is in error. The moral of it is this: If you are of any account, stay at home and make your way by faithful diligence; but if you are no account, go away from home, and then you will *have* to work, whether you want to or not. Thus you become a blessing to your friends by ceasing to be a nuisance to them - if the people you go among suffer by the operation.

Australasian's custom of speaking of England as home. It was always pretty to hear it, and often it was said in an unconsciously caressing way that made it touching; in a way which transmuted a sentiment into an embodiment, and made one seem to see Australasia as a young girl stroking mother England's old gray head.

The tomb of Adam! How touching it was, here in a land of strangers, far away from home, and friends, and all who cared for me, thus to discover the grave of a blood relation.

If you are of any account, stay at home and make your way by faithful diligence; but if you are "no account," go away from home, and then you will have to work, whether you want to or not. Thus you become a blessing to your friends by ceasing to be a nuisance to them

The grave of Adam! How touching it was, here in a land of strangers, far away from home, & friends, & all who cared for me thus to discover the grave of a blood relation. True, a distant one, but still a relation.

I took up my knife and fork and--- well, I simply held them, and kept still; for the boy had inclined his head and was saying a silent grace. A thousand hallowed memories of home and my childhood poured in upon me, and I sigh to think how far I had drifted from religion and its balm for hurt minds, its comfort and solace and support.

A home without a cat —and a well-fed, well-petted, and properly revered cat —may be a perfect home, perhaps, but how can it prove title?

It is the images of women, kind and cruel, that lead me home

Always in the middle of our bloodiest battles you lay down your arms like flowering mines to conqueror me home.

To whom do I owe the power behind my voice, what strength I have become, yeasting up like sudden blood from under the bruised skin's blister? My father leaves his psychic print upon me, silent, intense, and unforgiving. But his is a distant lightning. Images of women flaming like torches adorn and define the borders of my journey, stand like dykes between me and the chaos. It is the images of women, kind and cruel, that lead me home.

The summer movies are coming out. My advice: just stay home and burn a good book.

I think the most significant work we'll do in our whole life, in our whole world is done within the four walls of our home.