Quotes about Home

I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself.

Home should be a sanctuary, a place that feels safe and healthy, looks beautiful, and smells wonderful. Seriously... make it a place that you can come to and have an immediate feeling of… Aaaaah. I'm home. Awesome.
 
You don't need to hire a decorator or buy all new stuff or take on a new mortgage. Greening your house will go a long way toward making wherever you are an oasis. A green home is the most sanctuary-like home around - by which I mean it's beautiful and healthy and it smells terrific.

I long, as does every human being,
to be at home wherever I find myself.

Finally, we entered Chetaube County, my imaginary birthplace, where the names of the little winding roads and minuscule mountain communities never failed to inspire me: Yardscrabble, Big Log, Upper, Middle and Lower Pigsty, Chicken Scratch, Cooterville, Felchville, Dust Rag, Dough Bag, Uranus Ridge, Big Bottom, Hooter Holler, Quickskillet, Buck Wallow, Possum Strut … We always say a picture speaks a thousand words, but isn’t the opposite equally true?

Home. The word circled comfortably in my mouth like bubble gum, swished around sweetly soft and satisfying. Home. Try saying it aloud to yourself. Home. Isn’t it like taking a bite of something lovely? If only we could eat words.

When one is calm, one is home.

We are all longing to go home to some place we have never been - a place half-remembered and half-envisioned we can only catch glimpses of from time to time. Community. Somewhere, there are people to whom we can speak with passion without having the words catch in our throats. Somewhere a circle of hands will open to receive us, eyes will light up as we enter, voices will celebrate with us whenever we come into our own power. Community means strength that joins our strength to do the work that needs to be done. Arms to hold us when we falter. A circle of healing. A circle of friends. Someplace where we can be free.

The crisis, as well as the opportunity, of our time is to surrender our ego and conditioned fear mechanisms to the primary torsion energy of unconditional love that is seeking to evolve us and is calling us as a species home.

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 its title?

Mastery of Intention is a deeply personal process that always occurs in the present. No technology, guru or savior, however advanced, can do for us what only a commitment to evolving and operating out of our own divine consciousness and physiology can achieve. The choice is ours in every now whether to give away our power to something or someone outside ourselves, or to summon the courage, integrity and impeccability to return home by walking the challenging but ultimately enlightening Black Road of Spirit.

Enjoy life.  Laugh a lot. Play and know that you are Home. You are the expression of Heaven on Earth and every day when you smile, you create it a little bit more. Re-member only three things: treat each other with the greatest of respect.  Nurture one another at every opportunity you can. Re-member it is a game and play well together.

No matter which road you take they all lead home. Know that now and it will make all the difference... then.

With a suitcase full of dreams to sell and an earful of stories to tell I walk away from the place I once called home. A new chapter in my life is about to unfold as I search for the answers along the road. Until I find a place I can all my home.

As we expand, we melt. Our hearts open. Our thinking changes. Our obsessions subside, our addictions quietly pass away. This is the slow, elegant, loving process through which, little by little, we let go of the old and welcome the new. We open our hearts and allow in a few more people, just a few more relationship experiences, just a few more kinds of relationships. We learn there are no mistakes, and our hearts become a circle so large that there are no more boundaries, no differences, no judgments. We know the graciousness of that great undivided familiarity, in which there are no more strangers, only friends.

We stretch, and to our amazement we don't break. Instead, we grow. Suddenly, everything becomes easier, and our hearts, which once we believed could love only one person, or were battered so badly we thought they could never love again, expand so fully that the whole world is welcome. In such a state of openness, we see that we've only forgotten how to be together, we faintly and beautifully remember that once we were all together. We remember the way we were in a universe of incredible softness where there were no edges, no walls, no mind games, no rules. In that incredible world, we were happy. We loved one another. It wasn't a feeling. It was a state of being called joy.

The future of love is this all-encompassing embrace. For when we have expanded so much, we will finally arrive at a place where the heart can open its doors to everything and everyone. Our souls have been taking us on this journey and Love is the magnificent destination to which they have been leading us. Now we can feel joy. Now, at last, we can be satisfied. Now, finally, we are home.

“Have nothing in your home that you do not know to be useful and believe to be beautiful.”

He is happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home.

~ the sum of  a journey equals a new perspective of home ~

"I was filled with longing for joyful permanent fixations, and insight, for play and a secular individualism, a spiritual life and some unnameable opportunity like a right I vaguely remembered and couldn't get purchase on. It was no good. It took me years and one mistake after another to realize this and even then I simply got washed out, put aside I didn't really learn a lesson. I know it's not so much the mistakes not the divisions, or cultural impediments, the threats and isolation techniques we run on each other it's the heart. My father went to his grave unchanged. So did Poe. And beautiful Anna Karenina. And Ovid. Consuela Concepcion, too, my piano teacher. They say in the end Mussolini was so terrified his mind seized and he couldn't speak. He sat there swelled-up and bug-eyed. This is not it. Or anyone drowning or lurching from the fire shrieking he didn't want this to happen. There is so much gibberish. And imprecision. No wonder we lock in. Like you, I get scared. I used to go to my friend's house, sink into the old sofa on his back porch and read all day. His family and the ducks and dogs would pass by, let me be—discreet love—I'd feel safe."

"Does one really to fret about enlightenment?  No matter what road I travel, I'm going home."

Travelers have to be optimistic to think that by going onward, they're going to find something better. Pessimists stay at home.

God is at home, it's we who have gone out for a walk.

The great home of the soul is the open road.

Any coward can sit at home and criticize a pilot for flying into a mountain in a fog. But I would rather by far die on a mountainside than in bed.

People who have good relationships at home are more effective in the marketplace.

It is easy to embellish the pillars and insert beams in a home but hard to ge the huai tree to grow.

If a dog will not come to you after he has looked you in the face, you ought to go home and examine your conscience.

There is no room for the dilettante, the weakling, for the shirker, or the sluggard. The mine, the factory, the dockyard, the salt sea waves, the field to till, the home, the hospital, the chair of the scientist, the pulpit of the preacher - from the highest to the humblest tasks, all are of equal honor; all have their part to play.

This is no time to speak of the hopes of the future, or the broader world which lies beyond our struggles and our victory. We have to win that world for our children. We have to win it by our sacrifices. We have not won it yet. The crisis is upon us. . . . In this strange, terrible world war there is a place for everyone, man and woman, old and young, hale and halt; service in a thousand forms is open. There is no room now for the dilettante, the weakling, for the shirker, or the sluggard. The mine, the factory, the dockyard, the salt sea waves, the fields to till, the home, the hospital, the chair of the scientist, the pulpit of the preacher - from the highest to the humblest tasks, all are of equal honor; all have their part to play.

Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow; The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow!

Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.