Feeling of Home Quotes

I’ve learned that home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling.

... home isn't always the place where you were born and bred. Home is the place where your everyday clothes are, and where somebody or something needs you.

My heart is definitely here, and there's no place like home.

I don't think I've ever really had a home before, not until I met you.

I feel at home wherever I am, to be honest.

what we call a home is merely any place that succeeds in making more consistenly available to us the important truths which the wider world ignores, or which our distracted and irresolute selves have trouble holding onto." (p123) Architecture of Happiness

Home is a notion that only nations of the homeless fully appreciate and only the uprooted comprehend.

California is very much my home, and has been for the last eight yeas. It doesn't matter where I am, the inner me stays the same, home is wherever I happen to be living with Tracey, my companion of the last eighteen years.

I don't know if I'm ever considered a part of the community I'm in.

New York has given me a lot, but I still don't consider it home.

Dustfinger closed his eyes and listened. He was home again.

Some places are like family. They annoy us to no end, especially during the holidays, but we keep coming back for more because we know, deep in our hearts, that our destinies are intertwined.

Wherever is your heart I call home.

The rooms of his apartment were full with the dog home again, convalescing. He was satisfied to know, even when she was out of sight, that somewhere in the apartment she was sleeping or eating or sitting watchfully. It was family, he guessed, more or less. Did most people want a house of living things at night, to know that in the dark around them other warm bodies slept? Such a house could even be the whole world.

Our homes do not have to offer us permanent occupancy or store our clothes to merit the name. To speak of home in relation to a building is simply to recognise its harmony with our own prized internal song. Home can be an airport or a library, a garden or a motorway diner.

Home is where the heart is and hence a movable feast.

Perhaps this is our strange and haunting paradox here in America -- that we are fixed and certain only when we are in movement. At any rate, that is how it seemed to young George Webber, who was never so assured of his purpose as when he was going somewhere on a train. And he never had the sense of home so much as when he felt that he was going there. It was only when he got there that his homelessness began.

Sometimes a man hits upon a place to which he mysteriously feels that he belongs.