Thomas Wolfe Quotes

In the mind, in the heart, I was always home. I always imagined, really, going back home.

It was an outdoor Shakespeare theater that I grew up at. That feels like home, and the place I'm always trying to figure out how to get to.

The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing — to reach the Mountain, to find the place where all the beauty came from — my country, the place where I ought to have been born. Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home? For indeed it now feels not like going, but like going back.

Maybe at the heart of all our traveling is the dream of someday, somehow, getting Home.

It is more than twenty years since we left the city. This is a serious chunk of time, longer than the years we spent living there. Yet we still think of Jerusalem as our home. Not home in the sense of the place that you conduct your daily life or constantly return to. In fact, Jerusalem is our home almost against our wills. It is our home because it defines us, whether we like it or not.

Many Lexington natives believe they live in a special place, one impossible to leave. I'm not so sure about that - or it's more accurate to say I think a more general truth exists beneath it: the place you first call home stays with you always, whether you remain or go.

I am delighted to be back home in Galway, the place I first came to as a 19-year-old in 1960. It's here where my heart is and will forever be.

And so much of my life has been about returning home and longing for home, wanting my children to know about my roots. And I thought I can't be the only one to feel this way so I thought it would be an interesting topic to explore.

It's really hard to escape where you were brought up. Not that I would ever want to escape it.

I love L.A., but Pittsburgh just is home. This is what I know. This is where I was born and raised. This is what molded me to make me who I am.

The best thing you can do is remember your home town.

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.

There are places one comes home to that one has never been to.

I have learned and dismantled all the words in order to draw from them a single word: Home.

Through my college years, topping that ridge had always given me a great sense of being home, but time had diminished the emotion and I had begun to suspect that home was less a place than an empty page.

Home, I learned, can be anywhere you make it. Home is also the place to which you come back again and again.

Oakland is home, and you always want to go home. Anytime you get the chance, you're happy to go home.

[After my mother died, I had a feeling that was] not unlike the homesickness that always filled me for the first few days when I went to stay at my grandparents'' house, and even, I was stunned to discover, during the first few months of my freshman year at college. It was not really the home my mother had made that I yearned for. But I was sick in my soul for that greater meaning of home that we understand most purely when we are children, when it is a metaphor for all possible feelings of security, of safety, of what is predictable, gentle, and good in life.

All that is within me cries out to go back to my home on the Hudson River

The word 'home', it seemed, once learned, was a hard one to forget.

Construed as turf, home just seems a provisional claim, a designation you make upon a place, not one it makes on you. A certain set of buildings, a glimpsed, smudged window-view across a schoolyard, a musty aroma sniffed behind a garage when you were a child, all of which come crowding in upon your latter-day senses -- those are pungent things and vivid, even consoling. But to me they are also inert and nostalgic and unlikely to connect you to the real, to that essence art can sometimes achieve, which is permanence.

When I dig back through memory cells, I get one particularly distinctive feeling-and that's one of warmth, comfort and well-being. For whatever else I may have had, or lost, or will find-I've still got a hometown. This, nobody's gonna take away from me.

You can go home again...so long as you understand that home is a place where you have never been.

L.A. just doesn't seem real to me. Chicago does. My real friends are there. It's home.