c2p-cmd/Good-Quotes-Authors huggingface dataset:
Time, so majestically fine, was passing by when I asked him to stop, a while, and lay his imprint upon the spaciousness of feelings: his face, reflected in the mirror of my memories, his smile, envisaged by my eyes, in quest of his new dwellings with wells of meanings. And there, he stopped its moment... and kissed my curiosity. It was then when I felt in love with him.
— Soar
To hear her name I truly yearn,My heart is crying out;The sense of love I wish to earn,Without a second doubt.
— Stephan Attia, The Rising Lines of Wonderment: Poetry
I am a convinced believer that nothing is "as it is", but it is something that "can become", or we can make out of, if we put faith in our inner resources and feelings to bring the right impetus to the driving wheels of our lives’ mechanism. (Soar)
— Soar, Into Earth, Wind and Fire: Poems on Love and the Universal Elements
The source of beauty in a man, It is humbleness and grace;Equality is the pearl of a king,Justice his scepter;Salvation is his crown.
— Stephan Attia, Mythopia
When the words have been said and the music has been played, feelings are the only form of art which will remain to reign. (Soar)
— Soar, Yours, poetically: Special Deluxe Edition of Selected Poems and Quotes
Poetry, playing with your words until you breathe life into them.
— Morgan Dragonwillow
The comedy of the wicked,Is the tragedy of the saint;But the saint’s comedy,Is the wicked’s remedy.
— Stephan Attia, Mythopia
And in the vine of the divine, There is a fine line;Between tragedy and comedy,That a man cannot define.
— Stephan Attia, Equinox
I only wake up twice a year,And twice a year I live;In the equinox I am aware,Flying high and everywhere;On other days I grieve.
— Stephan Attia, Equinox
There is a difference between a poem and a writing incrusted with a feel of Poetry to fall within range
— Mpho Leteng
Better poetry than riches,Better poverty than fortunes.
— Stephan Attia, Mythopia
Oh the stellar sensation,Oh the cosmic elevation;Time is sober in death,For the wine of love;Is the blue life of the earth.
— Stephan Attia, Mythopia
You are the know place to which the unknown is always leading me back.""I possess nothing worthy to give you." "There's only me." ~ quotes from poetry that Angelo feels match him and Zach
— Marie Sexton, Paris A to Z
For those who sense and comprehend,They know that heaven is at hand;The river blue which stream and stream,It has the pictures of my dream.
— Stephan Attia, The Rising Lines of Wonderment: Poetry
Stars ink your fingerswith a lexicon of flameblazing rare knowledge.
— Aberjhani, The River of Winged Dreams
Purity is defined by the clearness of the stars
— Michael Biondi
The temporal heart resonates at whispersFrom a Truth overarchingOf whose countenanceTimeless Intellect yearns vainly to fathom
— Ashim Shanker, Sinew of the Social Species
We are not from here, my dear. So:Let the flames take over our bodies,‘cause I wanna merely burn with you.And we can dance until we become ashes,but don’t you dare leave me when we become pointless dust.Because this is when we canfinally blow away with the wind,back to that place where lovewas once real...
— Michael Biondi
Etchings endure, But not in SandMeanings Collide To Unresolved FragmentsCodes fizzle to StaticThey are not lostBut UnheardNever lostFading slowly to SilenceBy infinite degrees
— Ashim Shanker, Sinew of the Social Species
The heart doth recognise thee,Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet,Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete,—-Though seeing now those changes that disguise thee.
— Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I speak of new cities and new peopleI tell you the past is a bucket of ashes.I tell you yesterday is a wind gone down,a sun dropped in the west.I tell you there is nothing in the worldonly an ocean of tomorrows.a sky of tomorrows.I am a brother of the cornhuskers who sayat sundown:Tomorrow is a day.”- Carl Sandburg, Cornhuskers
— Carl Sandburg, Cornhuskers
Beauty Lies Within The unknown
— Michael Biondi
Life is beautiful. Death is astonishing.And love is the just breaths taken in between
— Michael Biondi
Hands burn for a stone, a bomb, to shiver down the glass. Nothing's changed.
— Tatamkhulu Afrika
I'm merely dying to be remembered for simply writing about my living memories
— Michael Biondi
In vogue and cosmopolitan they clutch their Pomeranians and walk among the millionaires or watch from swayback steamer chairs
— Allan Wolf, The Watch That Ends the Night
Why spend our time searching to feel reality, when it’s the times that don’t feel real that we remember forever?
— Michael Biondi
I heard your whispered fantasies so clear Softly told in my earI opened my eyes you weren't thereSo real my dream, I was so awareBut we'll meet again so certainlyIn our whispered fantasy
— Astrid Brown, Whispered Fantasies
I’m looking for youinto that silverspoon where I taste my reflection to feel the touch of your untouchables- from the poem "Looking For You
— Munia Khan
Sublime wonders lie in store,I am shown a regal residence;a mighty kingdom, an empirewith more grandeur than before ...
— E.A. Bucchianeri, Phantom Phantasia: Poetry for the Phantom of the Opera Phan
Come quickly with me.Inhale the divine that swoopsfrom nostril to blunted throatthen sneaks past guarded doorsinto the hallway of your heartwhere the lamplight grows.
— Merle Nudelman, True as Moonlight
Over the water of time I call to youIn a language I do not know.
— Ellen S. Jaffe, Skinny-Dipping with the Muse
Visitors come and go.Daily I read tea leaves for signsof the approaching century:a raven perched on a crossa sword piercing a cloud--A Victorian Life
— Clara Blackwood, Forecast
Your face expresses a simple majesty,Your look is that of a captive princess,Your lips have a slight smile andThis shows your glory of being a woman.
— Doutor Luis Alexandre Ribeiro Branco, Small Portion: a little taste of poetry
Daisy, simple and discreet flower,That earned the heart of this poet.
— Doutor Luis Alexandre Ribeiro Branco, Small Portion: a little taste of poetry
Poetry rhymes, a song our souls need to nourish upon. Poetry is a drum, a sound our bodies wish to have. Poetry is organized, a reading our eyes wish to view. Poetry is refined, a structure our moral selves seek. Poetry is civil, instigating the world to remain sane. Poetry is not ordinary, but it needs the ordinary eyes to continue to be the interesting art form of expression. Poetry is like a child communicating, who later grows to be an adult communicating in prose.
— Gloria D. Gonsalves
Loneliness why do you accompany me if I wish to be alone?
— Doutor Luis Alexandre Ribeiro Branco, Small Portion: a little taste of poetry
The experiences, the lessons, and the defeats,They were all necessary for me to be me,took me a while being blind before i could see,had to crawl on my knees before i stood on my feet,once i stood on my feet i found out i had wings,the flight is amazing, i felt like a king,and when no one is listening, i found out i can sing, what happy times and thoughts does it bring,whatever it takes just make sure you are free,free to live, and grow like a tree,The people you love are the branches you need,its not about the type, the color, or breed,Live life with ambition, ambition indeed,Thats what it took, and thats what i need.
— Michael Perez
Little,It is a small measureBut can you measure love?
— Doutor Luis Alexandre Ribeiro Branco, Small Portion: a little taste of poetry
My poetry is the highest valuable thing I have to make you smile...
— Doutor Luis Alexandre Ribeiro Branco, Small Portion: a little taste of poetry
Poetry is born of a lack of love, born of a crazy and impossible passion...
— Doutor Luis Alexandre Ribeiro Branco, Small Portion: a little taste of poetry
Push off, and sitting well in order smite the sounding furrows
— Ulysses Tennyson
I feel like shredded paper thrown to the wind, each poet took a piece of me and wrote a word or phrase...
— Doutor Luis Alexandre Ribeiro Branco, Small Portion: a little taste of poetry
I’m on a long journey around and through myself...
— Doutor Luis Alexandre Ribeiro Branco, Small Portion: a little taste of poetry
A badly written novel can always be shortened to a poem.
— Gloria D. Gonsalves
I was overcome by the simplicity of the brook and abandoned my envy and desire for bravery, and simply prayed: “Lord, give me the quietness of the waters of this little brook and like it I will amalgamate myself in thee!
— Doutor Luis Alexandre Ribeiro Branco, Small Portion: a little taste of poetry
The important thing in life is to be.
— Doutor Luis Alexandre Ribeiro Branco, Small Portion: a little taste of poetry
Touch Me, but not with your hands.
— Orville Lloyd Douglas
Find that gem amongst your so-called, "friends.
— Vannary Rang
But you must know that only he who fights the darkness within will the day after tomorrow have his own share in the sun.
— Odysseus Elytis, The Axion Esti
You did anything to bury me, but you forgot that I was a seed.
— Dinos Christianopoulos
To walk quietly until the miracle in everything speaks is poetry, whether we write it down or not.
— Mark Nepo
Her smile was like laughter to me— it bubbled in like champagne.
— Atticus
If there is no God,Not everything is permitted to man.He is still his brother's keeperAnd he is not permitted to sadden his brother,By saying there is no God.
— Czesław Miłosz
I was born with my eyes turned inward.
— David Joseph Cribbin, Father Crow and Other Poems
and everybody was happy that uncle lee was able to get that scholarship even though you wondered when you could do quadratic equations in your head why you had a basketball scholarship but you always knew that you had to take what they were giving since that was all you were going to get but you never fooled yourself about either the taking or the giving or the needing or the having you just sort of said to yourself I'll have to see what is being offered
— Nikki Giovanni, Quilting the Black-Eyed Pea
I am telling himwhat he wants to hear: antsdying of love underthe constellation of the dandelion.I swear that a white rose,sprinkled with wine, sings.I am laughing, tiltingmy head carefullyas if checking an invention.I am dancing, dancingin astonished skin, inan embrace that creates me.
— Wisława Szymborska
I was asked once why I write poetry. I said, why do you breath?
— Shannon Lynette
The trip to Mars can only be understood through Black Americans. I say, the trip to Mars can only be understood through Black Americans.
— Nikki Giovanni, Quilting the Black-Eyed Pea
Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul...
— Emily Dickinson
If the poets offered us nothing more than another make-believe world, they would be mere sellers of drugs or, at best, sweetmeats.
— Robert Lynd
nothing is more opaque than absolute transparency. Look--my feet don't hit the marble! Like breath or a balloon, I'm rising, I hover six inches in the air in my blazing swan-egg of light. You think I'm not a goddess? Try me. This is a torch song. Touch me and you'll burn.
— Margaret Atwood
Wisdomis in the insane asylums.The endis in the everyday-pale smiles
— Saif Alsaegh, Iraqi Headaches: Poems
Writing and art are my lovers
— Edna Stewart
My grandmotherhad no time for old,no matter how her face crinkledor her days folded like an apron aroundher middle.
— April Michelle Bratten, It Broke Anyway
Doubt makes faith true
— Bill  Johnston, One Manner of Hunger or Another
When I/Don’t know/What to say,/Let me/Listen.
— John Northcutt Young, Poems of Brevity
My fist is her flag still furled. Take the cannoli and leave the tuxedo - This is my jackleg opera to the world.
— B.J. Ward, Jackleg Opera: Collected Poems, 1990 to 2013
Early mapmakers kept their backs to the sea
— Sarah Hymas
Why are you so hard on yourself?I love you just the way you are,with your withered coat and wet scarf dangling like a spotless chandelier.The snow banks in Montreal are high, but I can see your trace, and silent grace and tin cup through the paned window.The precipitation melts your face, distorting your expression through the aged glass; broken, when I threw ancient stones to get your attentionas a child.I wanted a friend. The honest kind.
— V.S. Atbay
I want to ripoff your logic and make passionate sense to you.
— Jeffery McDaniel
We arrived and the miracle happened.It was the sea and the wind in the bells.We came from far, from years Thirsty as dust, from humble fishermen’s nets on barren shore."~ José Manuel Cardona, from Poems to Circe, The Birnam Wood (El Bosque de Birnam, Consell Insular D'Eivissa, 2007).Translated from the Spanish by Helene Cardona.
— José Manuel Cardona
Because Of You, My Heart Exploded Into Stars
— Tirumalai S. Srivatsan
The poet is a light and winged and holy thing, and there is no invention in him until he has been inspired and is out of his sneses, and the mind is no longer in him.
— Plato, Ion
Healthy ChoicesHold stillKeep quiet.Get a degree to learn how to talksaying nothing.Catch a good manby being demure.the one your mother chooses.Let him climb youwhenever his urge,amidst headachesand menstrual achesand screaming infants.And when he bidsquick, turn over.Hold still.Make your tonguea slab of cementa white stone etchedwith your name.Kill your stories with knivesand knitting needlesand Clorox bleach.Hide in your mysteriousnessby saying nothing.Starch your thoughtswith ironed shirts.Tie your angerwith a knot inyour throatand when he comeswithout concernswallow it.Hold still.Keep desirehopeless as iceand sleepless nightsand painful as pinched eyelid.Keep your fingersfrom the razor,keep your longingto severhis condescensionsafely in your douchbag.Turn the bladeagainst yourself.Don't twitchas your slashed wristsstain your bathroom tiles.Disinfect with Pine Sol.Hold still. Keep quiet.Keep tight your lips,keep dead your dreams,keep cold your heart.Keep quiet.And he will shoutpraisesto yourperfection.
— Janice Mirikitani
Forgive me,joy,if I blasphemed youbefore I learned to love.
— Milan Rúfus, And That's the Truth!
And like nectar inside the bud,my blood drinks from your blood, beloved,and starves to join the salvation in your eyes;to be understood again and again, by your nakedness and certainty, a humbleness that trickles into the crevices of my seasoned mind.
— V.S. Atbay
There always comes the day when children swallowthe key to the door of secrecy. They’ll not return it.
— Milan Rúfus, And That's the Truth!
Emerging from chaos, came Light, filling need.
— E'yen A. Gardner, Poetic License
I drank the dregs of the wine to what remained of my health.I gave the last of my fervor for what remained of my hope.I cannot say for sure that this country is cursed,Honey flows with the milk, and the milk might curdle. Eli7
— Elizaveta Mikhailichenko, Preemptive Revenge
i see poets riding the red winds unchecked by the borders of time, wandering with light feet over the land mines and trip wires, barbed and barbarian, unfettered through the barriers that curtail the flows of life, poets pelting the halting barriers which strangle everyone everywhere.
— Peter Standish Evans, Red Winds Howl
Imagine a sunset, lavender and red / as battered morals . . .
— Sarah Gorham, Bad Daughter
I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;Her coat is one of the tabby kind,with tiger stripes and lepard spots.
— T.S. Eliot, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats
i was really into communal living and we were all /such free spirits, crossing the country we were /nomads and artists and no one ever stopped / to think about how the one working class housemate / was whoring to support a gang of upper middle class / deadheads with trust fund safety nets and connecticut / childhoods, everyone was too busy processing their isms / to deal with non-issues like class....and it’s just so cool / how none of them have hang-ups about / sex work they’re all real / open-minded real / revolutionary you know / the legal definition of pimp is / one who lives off the earnings of / a prostitute, one or five or / eight and i’d love to stay and / eat some of the stir fry i’ve been cooking / for y’all but i’ve got to go fuck / this guy so we can all get stoned and / go for smoothies tomorrow, save me / some rice, ok?
— Michelle Tea, The Beautiful: Collected Poems
A language is a map of our failures
— Adrienne Rich, The Fact of a Doorframe: Poems Selected and New, 1950-1984
I strike the ground with the soles of my feet and life rises up my legs, spreads up my skeleton, takes possession of me, drives away distress and sweetens my memory. The world trembles.
— Isabel Allende, Island Beneath the Sea
life is first boredom, then fear.whether or not we use it, it goes,and leaves what something hidden from us chose,and age, and then the only end of age.
— Philip Larkin, The Whitsun Weddings and Selected Poems of Philip Larkin
Love crosses the sky \ on a peculiar disturbing night.
— Shannon A. Thompson
sometimes I hearscreaming like a childand wake upto find it’s me
— Stephen Fitzsimons, Screaming In A Vacuum Jar
I don't know if I have ever truly believed that everyone deserves love. But if I had to take it one moment further into those shadowed valleys of heartfull, I would admit that I do believe that love, deserves everyone.
— Mikl Paul, Dandelions That have Held your Breath
Like the number nineeternity is forever mine
— Kenneth G. Ortiz
there are these places on your poem, / where I want to write bodies.
— Mikl Paul, Dandelions That have Held your Breath
Our age has built itself vast reservoirs of power / formless as the straining energy that it wrests from the earth.
— Rainer Maria Rilke, The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke
and you taste / of the memory of god abandoned.
— Mikl Paul, Dandelions That have Held your Breath
The untented Kosmos my abode,I pass, a wilful stranger:My mistress still the open roadAnd the bright eyes of danger.
— R.L.S.
The city they are building asks you to stay; remind yourself what is worth keeping, while the lighthouse of your moan warns the ship of your heart that he is a stone.
— Mikl Paul, Dandelions That have Held your Breath
I want to gossip about forever / against the part of your back that / is mine.
— Mikl Paul, Dandelions That have Held your Breath
Please let me know if I am not hereLet me know if I fail to find you thereFor before the dawn I leave the night behind meAnd before my heart I let you leave me behind.
— Munia Khan
I negate this distance with / what it would be / to be shining you.
— Mikl Paul, Dandelions That have Held your Breath
Write to me your most perfect epitaph, or I shall compare a poet to a lecturer. Thou art more Spartan than a ballad monger who makes his living as a Wal-Mart greeter;
— Scott Jonathan Nixon, Cities of Love, Salt & Alchemy
poems are small moments of enlightenment
— Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within
No one understands now. Those who couldhear a song this deeply vanished long ago.
— Li Bai
... this longing inside me that never goes away, must be a poem...must be you ...
— John Geddes, A Familiar Rain
Our story has been told,our song has been sung.You're a road I’ve already traveled,and from it, I have moved on."Already Traveled
— Shay Leigh, Sins Within
Talk to me in poetry. / It is all I understand.
— Linda Stitt, Passionate Intensity
...the wind hums low with sweet exultation, sings its lullaby, while you sleep ...
— John Geddes, A Familiar Rain
I offer you my soulWithin are my flawsMy grace, my kindnessMy love for you"The Offer
— Shay Leigh, Sinless Within
It must have been an endless breathing in: between the wish to know and the wish to praise there was no seam.
— Margaret Atwood, The Door
The rules of life are nothing that cannot be fixed.
— Shannon A. Thompson
I want to show my sins withinTo help make me sinless, once again"What I Want
— Shay Leigh, Sinless Within
And when I feelthe masks beneathcrumble and fade withtime I build new onesto replace the old."Masks"- Sins Within
— Shay Leigh, Sins Within
so quiet now my dearest knightyour armor shines white stillfor my lips shall not say the wordsthat make you flee with fear"White Knight
— Shay Leigh, Sins Within
I can no longer trust in this loveIt has fallen like the saints aboveAll because of your sweet liesYou sang them like a lullaby"Phoenix
— Shay Leigh, Sinless Within
When humankind cannot produce a philosopher to speak its mind, it longs for a poet to sing its heart
— Subhan Zein
Failures of nerve and energy are not permitted. That's what it means to be an object.
— Mary Kinzie, California Sorrow
The codfish lays ten thousand eggs.The homely hen lays one.Codfish never cackles to tell you what she has done.And so we scorn the codfish,while the humble hen we prize,which only goes to show you that it pays to advertise!
— Nikhil Sharda
I fancied you'd return the way you said,But I grow old and I forget your name. --From the poem "Mad Girl's Love Song
— Sylvia Plath
...my dreams are tangled in images of stars and clouds and firelight - we go camping at night - it's my lucid dream of being with you...
— John Geddes, A Familiar Rain
...freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin - inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night...
— John Geddes, A Familiar Rain
I had let it all grow. I had supposed It was all OK. Your lifeWas a liner I voyaged in.Costly education had fitted you out.Financiers and committees and consultantsEffaced themselves in the gleam of your finish.You trembled with the new life of those engines.That first morning,Before your first class at College, you sat thereSipping coffee. Now I know, as I did not,What eyes waited at the back of the classTo check your first professional performanceAgainst their expectations. What assessorsWaited to see you justify the costAnd redeem their gamble. What a furnaceOf eyes waited to prove your metal. I watchedThe strange dummy stiffness, the misery,Of your blue flannel suit, its straitjacket, uglyHalf-approximation to your ideaOf the properties you hoped to ease into,And your horror in it. And the tannedAlmost green undertinge of your faceShrunk to its wick, your scar lumpish, your plaitedHead pathetically tiny.You waited,Knowing yourself helpless in the tweezersOf the life that judges you, and I sawThe flayed nerve, the unhealable face-woundWhich was all you had for courage.I saw that what you gripped, as you sipped,Were terrors that killed you once already.Now I see, I saw, sitting, the lonelyGirl who was going to die.That blue suit.A mad, execution uniform,Survived your sentence. But then I sat, stilled,Unable to fathom what stilled youAs I looked at you, as I am stilledPermanently now, permanentlyBending so briefly at your open coffin.
— Ted Hughes, Birthday Letters
... paint in blue and black...sometimes gray - the colors of night - occasionally I surprise you with a mustard yellow, but then, I am a poet ...
— John Geddes, A Familiar Rain
...careful the morning lest it wake from slumber the city half-encumbered by the morning mist ...
— John Geddes, A Familiar Rain
The days of the future stand in fornt of usLike a line of candles all alightGolden and warm and lively little candlesThe days that are past are left behind
— Constantinos P. Cavafis
...How terrible, those dreams before sleep were—the worse kind, mixing hope with despair...
— John Geddes, A Familiar Rain
...at morning, I'm unruffled - I'll sit with my tea and Muse Cat beside me and listen to the soft chime of the grandfather clock...
— John Geddes, A Familiar Rain
...if it weren't for you, mornings wouldn't be so comforting - slippers wouldn't scrape through the rooms of my heart...
— John Geddes, A Familiar Rain
Always dip your toe in the past before stepping into the future
— Benny Bellamacina, Philosophical Uplifting Quotes and Poems
...my heart is a desolate field over which geese vee, the sky turns and the days lie fallow...
— John Geddes, A Familiar Rain
...you can be talented as a wolf is breathtakingly fierce...silver and gray, like smoke in the trees - but what do you do with terrible beauty?...
— John Geddes, A Familiar Rain
...I see you as series of gestures, a palette of colors -all these tiny tiles pixelate, and then coalesce... into the idea of you...
— John Geddes, A Familiar Rain
...I pluck every day from my sweater or chair, red hairs...strands of significance, traces of you in my life ...
— John Geddes, A Familiar Rain
once ruffle-skirted vanity table where I primped at thirteen, opening drawers to a private chaos of eyeshadows lavender teal sky-blue, swarms of hair pins pony tail fasteners, stashes of powders, colonies of tiny lipsticks (p.39)
— Barbara Blatner, The Still Position: A Verse Memoir of My Mother's Death
There's two ways to become a famous Poet, find that one person that knows somebody, that knows somebody, that knows somebody.Or die trying
— Stanley Victor Paskavich, Return to Stantasyland
Theirs two ways to become a famous Poet, find that one person that knows somebody, that knows somebody, that knows somebody.Or die trying
— Stanley Victor Paskavich, Return to Stantasyland
Oh dear sunday, I want to sleep in your arms and have fun day.
— Santosh Kalwar
Whiteness is the color of death, you know, not black. Wetness is life, the breeder and shaper of life. In the beginning the sun was black. So all light was absorbed before it had a chance to return. And our dreams, then, were empty.
— Jim Carroll
They were too much to carryso i left them behindfor a new life, in a new placebut no one forgot who i wasi didn'tand neither did the people who watchthey watched for yearsthey watch now
— Ally Condie, Matched
The sea waves stirred before methey dashed against the rocksLike a mermaid rising from its depthscurled white sea foam were her locks...
— Giselle V. Steele
The most procession that ever comes to a man in this world is a women's heart.
— Josiah G Holland AKA Timothy Titcomb
Almost every truly creative being alienated & expatriated in his own country
— Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Wild Dreams of a New Beginning
Even when poetry has a meaning, as it usually has, it may be inadvisable to draw it out. Perfect understanding will sometimes almost extinguish pleasure.
— A.E. Housman
(1)BEING A POETis like opening a car door& exposing yourself.(2)BEING A GOOD POETis like opening the door& exposing the passengeras well.
— Chocolate Waters
You Know love when you see it, hear it, and feel it." ~ Amunhotep El Bey
— Amunhotep El Bey
Is it possible for home to be a person and not a place?
— Stephanie Perkins, Anna and the French Kiss
Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.
— Edith Sitwell
Home's where you go when you run out of homes.
— John le Carré, The Honourable Schoolboy
At the end of the day, it isn’t where I came from. Maybe home is somewhere I’m going and never have been before.
— Warsan Shire
How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home.
— William Faulkner
The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.
— Maya Angelou, All God's Children Need Traveling Shoes
I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul.
— Jean Cocteau
I used to dream about escaping my ordinary life, but my life was never ordinary. I had simply failed to notice how extraordinary it was. Likewise, I never imagined that home might be something I would miss.
— Ransom Riggs, Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children
One never reaches home,' she said. 'But where paths that have an affinity for each other intersect, the whole world looks like home, for a time.
— Hermann Hesse, Demian. Die Geschichte von Emil Sinclairs Jugend
Well, sometimes home is a person.
— Beth Revis, A Million Suns
Home is the nicest word there is.
— Laura Ingalls Wilder
Home isn't a place, its a feeling
— Cecelia Ahern, Love, Rosie
Home is everything you can walk to.
— Jerry Spinelli, Stargirl
I believe that one can never leave home. I believe that one carries the shadows, the dreams, the fears and the dragons of home under one's skin, at the extreme corners of one's eyes and possibly in the gristle of the earlobe.
— Maya Angelou, Letter to My Daughter
It doesn’t matter how many times you leave, it will always hurt to come back and remember what you once had and who you once were. Then it will hurt just as much to leave again, and so it goes over and over again. Once you’ve started to leave, you will run your whole life.
— Charlotte Eriksson
You can go other places, all right - you can live on the other side of the world, but you can't ever leave home
— Sue Monk Kidd, The Mermaid Chair
Home is a notion that only nations of the homeless fully appreciate and only the uprooted comprehend.
— Wallace Stegner, Angle of Repose
I realise now that I wanted to disappear. To get so lost that nobody ever found me. To go so far away that I'd never be able to make my way home again. But I have no idea why.
— Jessica Warman, Between
This person realizes that staying home means blowing off everyone this person has ever known. But the desire to stay in is very strong. This person wants to run a bath and then read in bed.
— Miranda July, No One Belongs Here More Than You
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 title?
— Mark Twain, Pudd'nhead Wilson
You don’t have a home until you leave it and then, when you have left it, you never can go back.
— James     Baldwin, Giovanni's Room
Looking at the elementary schoolers in their colorful T-shirts from various day camps, Percy felt a twinge of sadness. He should be at Camp Half-Blood right now, settling into his cabin for the summer, teaching sword-fighting lessons in the arena, playing pranks on the other counselors. These kids had no idea just how crazy a summer camp could be.
— Rick Riordan, The Mark of Athena
I think what you notice most when you haven’t been home in a while is how much the trees have grown around your memories.
— Mitch Albom, For One More Day
Home is where my habits have a habitat
— Fiona Apple
I know this world is far from perfect.I am not the type to mistake a streetlight for the moon.I know our wounds are deep as the Atlantic.But every ocean has a shorelineand every shoreline has a tidethat is constantly returningto wake the songbirds in our hands,to wake the music in our bones,to place one fearless kiss on the mouth of that new born riverthat has to run through the center of our heartsto find its way home.
— Andrea Gibson, Pole Dancing to Gospel Hymns
I let it go. It's like swimming against the current. It exhausts you. After a while, whoever you are, you just have to let go, and the river brings you home.
— Joanne Harris, Five Quarters of the Orange
In life, a person will come and go from many homes. We may leave a house, a town, a room, but that does not mean those places leave us. Once entered, we never entirely depart the homes we make for ourselves in the world. They follow us, like shadows, until we come upon them again, waiting for us in the mist.
— Ari Berk, Death Watch
Thank you, Mr. Rochester, for your great kindness. I am strangely glad to get back again to you: and wherever you are is my home—my only home.
— Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
Libraries are reservoirs of strength, grace and wit, reminders of order, calm and continuity, lakes of mental energy, neither warm nor cold, light nor dark ... In any library in the world, I am at home, unselfconscious, still and abso
— Germaine Greer, Daddy, We Hardly Knew You
No one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark.
— Warsan Shire, Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth
A real love letter is made of insight, understanding, and compassion. Otherwise it's not a love letter. A true love letter can produce a transformation in the other person, and therefore in the world. But before it produces a transformation in the other person, it has to produce a transformation within us. Some letters may take the whole of our lifetime to write.
— Thich Nhat Hanh, Your True Home: The Everyday Wisdom of Thich Nhat Hanh: 365 days of practical, powerful teachings from the beloved Zen teacher
Maybe that's the best part of going away for a vacation-coming home again.
— Madeleine L'Engle, Meet the Austins
I don't care if we have our house, or a cliff ledge, or a cardboard box. Home is wherever we all are, together,
— James Patterson
And then I laugh, because it's so ridiculous and so gorgeous and it's all I an do to not melt into a fit of giggles. So what if I'm ninety-three? So what if I'm ancient and cranky and my body's a wreck? If they're willing to accept me and my guilty conscience, why the hell shouldn't I run away with the circus? It's like Charlie told the cop. For this old man, this IS home.
— Sara Gruen
This entire time I've been thinking about where my home was. At first it was California, then Wisconsin. But in truth, home isn't necessarily where you sleep at night. It's where you feel like yourself. Where you're most comfortable. Where you don't have to pretend, where you can just be you.
— Elizabeth Eulberg, Better off Friends
No settled family or community has ever called its home place an “environment.” None has ever called its feeling for its home place “biocentric” or “anthropocentric.” None has ever thought of its connection to its home place as “ecological,” deep or shallow. The concepts and insights of the ecologists are of great usefulness in our predicament, and we can hardly escape the need to speak of “ecology” and “ecosystems.” But the terms themselves are culturally sterile. They come from the juiceless, abstract intellectuality of the universities which was invented to disconnect, displace, and disembody the mind. The real names of the environment are the names of rivers and river valleys; creeks, ridges, and mountains; towns and cities; lakes, woodlands, lanes roads, creatures, and people.And the real name of our connection to this everywhere different and differently named earth is “work.” We are connected by work even to the places where we don’t work, for all places are connected; it is clear by now that we cannot exempt one place from our ruin of another. The name of our proper connection to the earth is “good work,” for good work involves much giving of honor. It honors the source of its materials; it honors the place where it is done; it honors the art by which it is done; it honors the thing that it makes and the user of the made thing. Good work is always modestly scaled, for it cannot ignore either the nature of individual places or the differences between places, and it always involves a sort of religious humility, for not everything is known. Good work can be defined only in particularity, for it must be defined a little differently for every one of the places and every one of the workers on the earth.The name of our present society’s connection to the earth is “bad work” – work that is only generally and crudely defined, that enacts a dependence that is ill understood, that enacts no affection and gives no honor. Every one of us is to some extent guilty of this bad work. This guilt does not mean that we must indulge in a lot of breast-beating and confession; it means only that there is much good work to be done by every one of us and that we must begin to do it.
— Wendell Berry
The truth is, until you know any different, the island is enough.Actually, I know different. And it's still enough.
— Maggie Stiefvater, The Scorpio Races
You will fall in love with train rides, and sooner or later you willrealize that nowhere seems like home anymore.
— Shinji Moon
Best way to live in California is to be from somewheres else.
— Cormac McCarthy, No Country for Old Men
It was not a triumphal return. Home, as I had known it, was gone.
— Alison Bechdel, Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic
People give pain, are callous and insensitive, empty and cruel...but place heals the hurt, soothes the outrage, fills the terrible vacuum that these human beings make.
— Eudora Welty
Love is always ready to deny itself, to give, sacrifice, just in the measure of its sincerity and intensity. Perfect love is perfect self-forgetfulness. Hence where there is love in a home, unselfishness is the law. Each forgets self and lives for others.But where there is selfishness it mars joy. One selfish soul will destroy the sweetness of life in any home. It is like an ugly bush in the midst of a garden of flowers. It was selfishness that destroyed the first home and blighted all the loveliness of Paradise; and it has been blighting lovely things in earth's home ever since. We need to guard against this spirit.
— J.R.    Miller
Waking up begins with saying am and now. That which has awoken then lies for a while staring up at the ceiling and down into itself until it has recognized I, and therefrom deduced I am, I am now. Here comes next, and is at least negatively reassuring; because here, this morning, is where it has expected to find itself: what’s called at home.
— Christopher Isherwood, A Single Man
It's one thing to develop a nostalgia for home while you're boozing with Yankee writers in Martha's Vineyard or being chased by the bulls in Pamplona. It's something else to go home and visit with the folks in Reed's drugstore on the square and actually listen to them. The reason you can't go home again is not because the down-home folks are mad at you--they're not, don't flatter yourself, they couldn't care less--but because once you're in orbit and you return to Reed's drugstore on the square, you can stand no more than fifteen minutes of the conversation before you head for the woods, head for the liquor store, or head back to Martha's Vineyard, where at least you can put a tolerable and saving distance between you and home. Home may be where the heart is but it's no place to spend Wednesday afternoon.
— Walker Percy, Lost in the Cosmos: The Last Self-Help Book
Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.
— Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.
The cruel irony of housework: people only notice when you don't do it.
— Danielle Raine, Housework Blues - A Survival Guide
And I was even beginning to think home might be with you.
— Ben Sherwood
You can’t go home again” ─ isn’t necessarily that places change but people do.
— Lauren Oliver, Before I Fall
Man wanted a home, a place for warmth, or comfort, first of physical warmth, then the warmth of the affections.
— Henry David Thoreau, Walden
All I wanted was what I'd already had. That exultation, that love. It was my one real home; I was a visitor everywhere else.
— Scott Spencer, Endless Love
For us, places we went were home. We didn't care if they were good or evil or neutral or what. We cared about the fact that for the first time, we didn't have to pretend to be something we weren't. We just got to be. That made all the difference in the world.
— Seanan McGuire, Every Heart a Doorway
I don't mean what other people mean when they speak of a home, because I don't regard a home as a...well, as a place, a building...a house...of wood, bricks, stone. I think of a home as being a thing that two people have between them in which each can...well, nest.
— Tennessee Williams
The place I like best in this world is the kitchen. No matter where it is, no matter what kind, if it’s a kitchen, if it’s a place where they make food, it’s fine with me. Ideally it should be well broken in. Lots of tea towels, dry and immaculate. Where tile catching the light (ting! Ting!)
— Banana Yoshimoto, Kitchen
Life takes us to unexpected places... love brings us home.
— Unknown Author 770
Home is what you take with you, not what you leave behind.
— N.K. Jemisin, The Fifth Season
Aedion touched her shoulder. "Welcome home, Aelin."A land of towering mountains-the Stagehorns-spread before them, with valleys and rivers and hills; a land of untamed, wild beauty.Terrasen.And the smell-of pine and snow.. How had she never realized that Rowan's scent was of Terrasen, of home? Rowan came close enough to graze her shoulder and murmured, "I feel as if I've been looking for this place my entire life.
— Sarah J. Maas, Queen of Shadows
There is no comfort anywhere for anyone who dreads to go home.
— Laura Ingalls Wilder, Little Town on the Prairie
How far we all come. How far we all come away from ourselves. So far, so much between, you can never go home again. You can go home, it's good to go home, but you never really get all the way home again in your life. And what's it all for? All I tried to be, all I ever wanted and went away for, what's it all for?Just one way, you do get back home. You have a boy or a girl of your own and now and then you remember, and you know how they feel, and it's almost the same as if you were your own self again, as young as you could remember.And God knows he was lucky, so many ways, and God knows he was thankful. Everything was good and better than he could have hoped for, better than he ever deserved; only, whatever it was and however good it was, it wasn't what you once had been, and had lost, and could never have again, and once in a while, once in a long time, you remembered, and knew how far you were away, and it hit you hard enough, that little while it lasted, to break your heart.
— James Agee, A Death in the Family
There wasn't a single item of importance [in the newspaper]. A tower of illusion, all of it, made of illusory bricks and full of holes. If life were made up only of imporant things, it really would be a dangerous house of glass, scarcely to be handled carelessly. But everyday life was exactly like the headlines. And so everybody, knowing the meaninglessness of existence, sets the centre of his compass at his own home.
— Kōbō Abe, The Woman in the Dunes
Whoever has no house now, will never have one. Whoever is alone will stay alone, will sit, read, write long letters through the evening, and wander on the boulevards, up and down, restlessly, while dry leaves are blowing.
— Rainer Maria Rilke
The first thing I did when I got inside was turn on the kitchen light. Then I moved to the table, putting my dad's iPod on the speaker dock, and a Bob Dylan song came on, the notes familiar. I went into the living room, hitting the switch there, then down the hallway to my room, where I did the same. It was amazing what a little noise and brightness could do to a house and a life, how much the smallest bit of each could change everything. After all these years of just passing through, I was beginning to finally feel at home.
— Sarah Dessen, What Happened to Goodbye
I believe home is where the heart can be open and loving with a sense of security. It must not be a place of fear.
— Marilyn Barnicke Belleghem, Questing Home: A Safe Place for My Holy Grail: Personal Growth Through Travel
For a knowledge of intimacy, localization in the spaces of our intimacy is more urgent than determination of dates.
— Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space
The city was lovely. There could be no place in the world to which he belonged so completely.That was why he'd always dreamed of leaving, and why he'd always been so afraid to go.
— Daniel Alarcón, At Night We Walk in Circles
The fish,Even in the fisherman's net,Still carries,The smell of the sea.
— مريد البرغوثي
This house sheltered us, we spoke, we loved within those walls. That was yesterday. To-day we pass on, we see it no more, and we are different, changed in some infinitesimal way. We can never be quite the same again.
— Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca
I wonder if it will be—can be—any more beautiful than this,’ murmured Anne, looking around her with the loving, enraptured eyes of those to whom ‘home’ must always be the loveliest spot in the world, no matter what fairer lands may lie under alien stars.
— L.M. Montgomery, Anne of the Island
She didn't know whether she was running away from something or running to something, but she admitted that deep in her heart she wanted to go home.
— Beatrice Sparks, Go Ask Alice
A true home is one of the most sacred of places. It is a sanctuary into which men flee from the world’s perils and alarms. It is a resting-place to which at close of day the weary retire to gather new strength for the battle and toils of tomorrow. It is the place where love learns its lessons, where life is schooled into discipline and strength, where character is molded.Few things we can do in this world are so well worth doing as the making of a beautiful and happy home. He who does this builds a sanctuary for God and opens a fountain of blessing for men.Far more than we know, do the strength and beauty of our lives depend upon the home in which we dwell. He who goes forth in the morning from a happy, loving, prayerful home, into the world’s strife, temptation, struggle, and duty, is strong--inspired for noble and victorious living. The children who are brought up in a true home go out trained and equipped for life’s battles and tasks, carrying in their hearts a secret of strength which will make them brave and loyal to God, and will keep them pure in the world’s severest temptations.
— J.R.    Miller
Heimat. The word mean home in German, the place where one was born. But the term also conveys a subtler nuance, a certain tenderness. One's Heimat is not merely a matter of geography; it is where one's heart lies. 
— Jenna Blum, Those Who Save Us
Home is where the heart is.
— Carrie Jones, After Obsession
It stood calm against the suburban storm raging around it. The thunder screamed across the sky
—  it slapped the clouds into a heated turmoil that flew towards the south.
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.
— Alyson Noel, Blue Moon
(about organizing books in his home library, and putting a book in the "Arts and Lit non-fiction section)I personally find that for domestic purposes, the Trivial Pursuit system works better than Dewey.
— Nick Hornby, The Polysyllabic Spree
You feel more like home to me than any place I've ever been.
— Angela N. Blount, Once Upon an Ever After
Corus lay on the southern bank of the Oloron River, towers glinting in the sun. The homes of wealthy men lined the river to the north; tanners, smiths, wainwrights, carpenters, and the poor clustered on the bank to the south. The city was a richly colored tapestry: the Great Gate on Kings-bridge, the maze of the Lower City, the marketplace, the tall houses in the Merchants' and the Gentry's quarters, the gardens of the Temple district, the palace. This last was the city's crown and southern border. Beyond it, the royal forest stretched for leagues. It was not as lovely as Berat nor as colorful as Udayapur, but it was Alanna's place.
— Tamora Pierce
What was home, really? Just a place to lay your head.No. It was so much more than that. It was a place where a person belonged. Where a fellow would be missed. It was a part of a man. Something that couldn't be sold or taken for granted.
— Suzanne Woods Fisher, The Keeper
Your true home is in the here and the now.
— Thich Nhat Hanh, Your True Home: The Everyday Wisdom of Thich Nhat Hanh: 365 days of practical, powerful teachings from the beloved Zen teacher
[The kitchen] was also messy--delightfully so, thought Jane--and it didn't look as though lots of cooking went on there. There was a laptop computer on the counter with duck stickers on it, the spice cabinet was full of Ben's toy trucks, and Jane couldn't spot a cookbook anywhere. This is the kitchen of a Thinker, she decided, and promised herself that she'd never bother with cooking, either.
— Jeanne Birdsall, The Penderwicks on Gardam Street
Home is not where you have to go but where you want to go; nor is it a place where you are sullenly admitted, but rather where you are welcomed – by the people, the walls, the tiles on the floor, the followers beside the door, the play of life, the very grass.
— Scott Russell Sanders
If your life's at a juncture and you need to think about things, there's nowhere better than home. However old you are.
— Sophie Kinsella, Twenties Girl
Mother seemed happiest when making and tending home, the sewing machine whistling and the Mixmaster whirling. Her deepest impulse was to nurture, to simply dwell; it had nothing to do with ambition and achievement in the world...How had I come to believe that my world of questing and writing was more valuable than her dwelling and domestic artistry?...I wanted to go out and do things--write books, speak out. I've been driven by that. I don't know how to rest in myself very well, how to be content staying put. But Mother knows how to BE at home--and really, to be in herself. It's actually very beautiful what she does...I think part of me just longs for the way Mother experiences home.
— Sue Monk Kidd