Georg Solti Quotes

I miss home badly sometimes. But then I remember there's nothing left to miss anymore. I feel safer here.

Mexico is only a memory of childhood safety.

I don't believe I could live in Iran again. A tree, once uprooted from the earth, is very difficult to plant again.

Exile is like death. You cannot understand it until it happens to you.

Those who have never suffered the iniquities of exile cannot possibly understand the significance, the gravitas, of a mattress.

I know how men in exile feed on dreams.

I've never quite understood that feeling: that you arrive in a strange place, yet you want to have nothing but familiar experiences.

Yeah, my dad was in the foreign service. We lived in India, Indonesia and Africa, and we traveled a lot from those places. I was 10 when we moved back, and I felt like the odd guy out. It wasn't until later that I appreciated it. But coming back I didn't know any TV shows or music, which was even worse.

I sing 'Beirut' for what the city is for me, but I am also singing as an exile.

Every day, I wish there was a moment when I could go back to my house and my land.

An exile reads change the way he reads time, memory, self, love, fear, beauty: in the key of loss.

I am away from home and must always write home, even if any home of mine has long since floated away into eternity.

I fear it, for her sake. It would mean that she too is a wanderer now, and that is a fate for human beings, not for unicorns. But I hope, of course I hope.

exile is strangely compelling to think about but terrible to experience. It is the unhealable rift forced between a human being and a native place, between the self and its true home: its essential sadness can never be surmounted. And while it is true that literature and history contain heroic, romantic, glorious, even triumphant episodes in an exile’s life, these are no more than efforts meant to overcome the crippling sorrow of estrangement.

For twenty years I have ached to go back home, when there was nobody there to whom I could return.

I am driven out of fatherlands and motherlands. Thus I now love only my children's land, yet undiscovered, in the farthest sea; for this I bid my sails search and search.

The whole world was nothing but an exile with no hope of a return.

Here, far from our homes, we will be forgotten by our gods.

Every night when I go to bed I think, In the morning I will wake up in my own house and things will be back the way they were. It hasn’t happened this morning, either.

I foresaw my life unfolding as an interminable stretch of nothingness and so I spent my years on Tinos floundering, feeling like a stand-in for myself, a proxy, as though my real self resided elsewhere, waiting to unite someday with this dimmer, more hollow self. I felt marooned. An exile in my own home

It was awkward, revisiting a world you have never seen before: like coming home, after a long journey, to someone else’s house.

Fog rolled in like a form of sorrow. To live exiled from a place you have known intimately is to experience sensory deprivation. A wide-awake coma. ... The sea was a memory bank into which everything fell and was lost. I dove in but came out empty-handed.

I had ambitions to set out and find, like an odyssey or going home somewhere, set out to find this home that I'd left a while back and couldn't remember exactly where it was, but I was on my way there. And encountering what I encountered on the way was how I envisioned it all. I didn't really have any ambition at all. I was born very far from where I'm supposed to be, and so, I'm on my way home, you know?

far away from my country I would be like those trees they chop down at Christmastime, those poor rootless pines that last a little while and then die.