home

I__ learning persistence and the closing of doors, the way the seasons come and go as I keep walking on these roads, back and forth, to find myself in new time zones, new arms with new phrases and new goals. And it hurts to become, hurts to find out about the poverty and gaps, the widow and the leavers. It hurts to accept that it hurts and it hurts to learn how easy it is for people to not need other people. Or how easy it is to need other people but that you can never build a home in someone__ arms because they will let go one day and you must build your own.

Introverts live in two worlds: We visit the world of people, but solitude and the inner world will always be our home.

People would rather live in homes regardless of its grayness. There is no place like home.

Home isn't a place. Home is the people who love you most, the people who will always love you, forever and ever, no matter what.

The old you has been left behind to leave place for the new you. And it will be a new you that your new friends will admire, that your old friends will struggle to understand and that your true friends will learn to embrace.

It felt natural, somehow, to be beside him__atural and reassuring__ike coming home after a long journey to finally sleep in your own bed.

Lucy settled into August's kitchen as if they were a family.

Home is anywhere that you know all your friends and all your enemies.

There is nothing more admirable than when two people who see eye to eye keep house as man and wife, confounding their enemies and delighting their friends.

They can award me with the greatest accolades and reward me with the finest diamonds. They can name days and streets after me, canonise and celebrate me. They can make me the queen of their kingdom, the president of their nation. They can carry my picture in their wallets and whisper my name in their prayers but, tell me, what is all this worth if your voice isn__ the one calling me home?

Love is when you have not been home for three months and call up home and your daughter picks up the phone and says "Papa, I love you!

It is your eyes that guide me home.

You know home isn__ really about what color your couch is or what you hang on the wall... Home is about knowing you are in the right place with the right people.

To me, you were more than just a person. You were a place where I finally felt at home.

No one will come and save you. No one will come riding on a white horse and take all your worries away. You have to save yourself, little by little, day by day. Build yourself a home. Take care of your body. Find something to work on. Something that makes you excited, something you want to learn. Get yourself some books and learn them by heart. Get to know the author, where he grew up, what books he read himself. Take yourself out for dinner. Dress up for no one but you and simply feel nice. it__ a lovely feeling, to feel pretty. You don__ need anyone to confirm it.

Let your home be a heavenly paradise.

The smell of home was indistinguishable from the smell of leaving home: each inhalation a mix of familiarity and fear.

And when the earth began to rumble and quake, as fear and frantic set in, he ran back inside the house past his wife and children, gathering all the valuables and things he thought of importance, and ran back to his car packing away. After making two trips in and out, he waited in the car for his family to come out, in fear they darted through the darkness and pelting cold rain. When everything calmed down, and the house was intact and safe, he returned putting everything back in its place, had the kids go to bed, told his wife he loves her and turned off the light.