Dolores O'Riordan Quotes

I don't know what 'home' or 'abroad' is any more.

After you've graduated, you're supposed to be an adult and go out into the world, and you're still not formed. It's an interesting... horrible, horrible time.

I have a husband and two kids, and they're usually around when I'm shooting, then I go home. We have dinner, and that's what I'm dealing with when I go home.

Being on tour is like being in limbo. It's like going from nowhere to nowhere.

I'm happy going home early and working out and just being a mother and being a wife.

When I graduated from the University of Pennsylvania I had a baby in one arm, a diploma in the other and I didn't know where I was going in life.

Sometimes I wake up and think, 'How did I get here?'

Although I'd always wanted children, it was such an opposite thing to being a singer.

Being a kid, as all kids do, you feel out of place or like kind of a freak. You wake up feeling like your head got put onto someone else's body that day.

Most of my films seem to be about people bewildered by the world around them, who don't fit into it and are trying to understand it.

Everybody in my band is married, pretty much, and have lives at home, and I don't want them to be away from their families so long that they just start to feel psychotic. You have to go home and stand around in your bathrobe doing your dishes to feel like a normal person sometimes.

There have been times that I have found myself in places, and I don't know how I got there, and I don't actually know where I am.

Sometimes I wonder where I am from. I am either way ahead or I come from another world. I don't recognise this world.

I'm more lost when I'm not on tour. I'm in a bit of a muddle at nine o'clock - 'Where's the stage?' On tour, there are people directing and supervising you.

Even though my parents were famous actors, I honestly felt most of the time that I didn't understand what was going on.

I was lucky enough to go home and raise our babies.

I look at old pictures of me... and I don't feel like I'm that guy anymore, but then I look at pictures of me now, and I'm not quite sure I'm this guy.

Around 1978, I got really, really sick of waking up in hotel rooms when I don't know where I am.

When I go home, I'm not the DA. I talk to my son about his day, I talk to my daughter about her day. I'm a wife and a mother.

The cities, the roads, the countryside, the people I meet - they all begin to blur. I tell myself I am searching for something. But more and more, it feels like I am wandering, waiting for something to happen to me, something that will change everything, something that my whole life has been leading up to.

I stand on the end platform of the tram and am completely unsure of my footing in this world, in this town, in my family. Not even casually could I indicate any claims that I might rightly advance in any direction. I have not even any defense to offer for standing on this platform, holding on to this strap, letting myself be carried along by this tram, nor for the people who give way to the tram or walk quietly along or stand gazing into shop windows. Nobody asks me to put up a defense, indeed, but that is irrelevant.

Did you ever look in the mirror And see a stranger standing there? Did you ever drive for miles and miles And wonder how on earth you got yourself there?

Whatever was about, whoever I had seen, and heard rocking, and who had passed me by just now, whoever had opened the locked door was not 'real'. No. But what was 'real'? At that moment I began to doubt my own reality.

You described the feeling you’d always had of being misplaced, of always standing to one side of yourself, of watching yourself in the world even as you were being in the world, and wondering if this was how everyone felt. That you always believed that other people had a clearer idea of what they were doing, and didn’t worry quite so much about why.

Am I lost or just less found?