...and you drink a little too much and try a little too hard. And you go home to a cold bed and think, 'That was fine'. And your life is a long line of fine.
What would our hospitality look like if we believed that Jesus’s death on the cross was the measure of God’s compassion for someone?
Perhaps there is some secret sort of homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect readers. How delightful if that were true.
If you slave away every day at a job you hate and come home drained and frustrated, what is that teaching your kids?
Dat's what they say of this cauntry back home, Kath: 'America, the land of milk and honey.' Bot they never tell you the milk's gone sour and the honey's stolen.
But [Coca-Cola] was also genuinely welcomed by the servicemen in far-flung military bases: Coca-Cola reminded them of home and helped to maintain morale.
If we never had the courage to take a leap of faith, we'd be cheating God out of a chance to mount us up with wings like eagles and watch us soar.
When our relatives are at home, we have to think of all their good points or it would be impossible to endure them. But when they are away, we console ourselves for their absence by dwelling on their vices.
A lot of artists start out as failed poets, then move on to being failed short-story writers before they finally break through to the big time and become failed novelists.
Some people say home is where you come from. But I think it’s a place you need to find, like it’s scattered and you pick pieces of it up along the way.
A brick could be used to decorate a house. And not just one brick, thousands could be stacked and affixed together and really make your house not only feel like a home, but less drafty too.
There’s no stronger bulwark of sound conservatism than the evangelical church, and no better place to make friends who’ll help you to gain your rightful place in the community than in your own church-home!
Then I’d go home, return to a pattern of worry, unable to tap the surrender core to travel’s inspiration. What was different?
One of my biggest fears is that I'm going to die alone in my home, and my cats will eat me because I am too dead to open their food cans.
Careful with the accusations of insanity, oh my lady whose home is a tower with windows of brick, all for the sake of some skinny-ankled, laugh-prone boy of a khan.
Early in this century a group of passionate artists in Russia claimed that the essence of art was to make the familiar seem strange. Perhaps this is also one of the roles of the exotic, to alter and sharpen our perceptions.
The first move was to turn to the one great, perfectly visible and certified revolution in the recent history of the human race [the Google search-engine].
You must now go home, where everything -- you can be quite sure -- will be falser than here....You must go now. You'll leave by the right, through the alley....
Home. That wonderful place I was lucky enough to revisit no matter how short a time finally realizing it's not relegated to just one single place its wherever you make it.
It was always a relief when she came home to him. Like water or food. Like music or that moment when you cut yourself with a knife and squeeze the skin and no blood oozes out.
Do you ever dangle your toes over the precipice, dare the cliff to crumble, defy the frozen deity to suffer the sun, thaw feather and bone, take wing to fly you home?
