Bertolt Brecht Quotes

Man hath still either toys or care: But hath no root, nor to one place is tied, but ever restless and irregular, about this earth doth run and ride. He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where; He says it is so far, that he has quite forgot how to go there.

I'm a nomad. A Jewish road warrior. I do not have a concept of home. I wish I did. But I live with the idea that we have to get out of town before dawn.

I basically live out of my truck - I mean from place to place. I feel more at home in my truck than just about anywhere, which is a sad thing to say, but it's true.

Yes, it was too late, and Sabina knew she would leave Paris, move on, and on again, because were she to die here they would cover her up with a stone, and in the mind of a woman for whom no place is home the thought of an end to all flight is unbearable.

I've never spent a whole year in one place without leaving.

Every day, it's a different country, different time zone. If you asked me where home was, I've never felt like I've had that. My idea of comfort is to leave a place. Two weeks is sort of my max.

I've never felt at home anywhere.

My main theme as a songwriter seems to be a feeling of homelessness, of being in motion. The feeling of being somehow unmoored, a radical internal freedom that is very painful and also joyful.

I have learned since that sometimes the things we want most are impossible for us. You may long to come home, yet wander forever.

I exult in the fact I can see everywhere with a flexible eye; the very notion of home is foreign to me, as the state of foreignness is the closest thing I know to home.

To walk is to lack a place. It is the indefinite process of being absent and in search of a proper.

How does it feel, how does it feel to be without a home, like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone.

To roam Giddily, and be everywhere but at home, Such freedom doth a banishment become.

Being somewhere but not completely: that was home for Danny. . . . All he needed was a cellphone or I-access, or both at once, or even just a plan to leave wherever he was and go someplace else really really soon.

I am wearied, as if I lacked a home to go to.

I don't really live anywhere.

Your people do not seem to like the place where they live and always want to be on the move going someplace else.

I'm on the road constantly. I'm a nomad. I don't really have a home right now. I don't identify with one place in particular.

I've never really thought about settling down anywhere. I like to keep moving.

I always live in multiple places. I'm never in the same city for seven days.

I kinda grew up in different places. I was just from everywhere.

I go to many different places many times, but I miss my house constantly.

I didn't have just one place where I could say, 'That's my home.'

Home is a notion that only nations of the homeless fully appreciate and only the uprooted comprehend.

I recall drinking sherry in California and dreaming of England, where I ate dalmoth and dreamed of Delhi. What is the purpose, I wonder, of all this restlessness? I sometimes seem to myself to wander around the world merely accumulating material for future nostalgias.