Hunter Schafer Quotes

I always miss New York when I leave it.

Like every New Yorker, I have a love/hate relationship with the city. There are times it's overbearing, but when I'm away even for a little while, I can't wait to get home. I am a New Yorker.

I never miss England.

If you go anywhere, even paradise, you will miss your home.

New York is a city where people are ambitious. They want things.

This was nostalgia in the literal Greek sense: the pain of not being able to return to one's home and family.

Austin is such a free and creative place, but I can't enjoy it as much because everyone I love is back in L.A.

I have to live within my memories, within my private universe, and continually return to China, the land where my thoughts are locked. This is a very painful kind of existence, this feeling of nowhereness.

I'd excluded New York from my writing, and then I came back and I fell in love with it all over again. The energy comes from an absence, that yearning for New York when you are not there.

I escaped to New York, and then L.A., but when I dream of home, I still dream of my old house in Holmdel.

I love living in New York.

I wish I had never left England

Homesickness is universal. But Neapolitan homesickness goes back further than the accidents of domicile. It is nostalgia for love and loss themselves, a soul-sickness caused by the very idea of leaving.

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

I miss Boston so much and want to get back there someday.

L.A. is such a different place. I miss New York so much. I almost teared up when I came back and wanted a Guinness and realized I could drink it and take a cab home. I remembered that I could be a functional alcoholic in New York, like I used to be!

At this moment, my soul is in Lebanon, my heart in Paris, and my body in New York.

When I'm at school in the city, I don't feel particularly worldly or wise. It's only when I come back home that I remember exactly why I left.

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

I wanted to remember in order to be able to return.

Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me; In exile thy bosom shall still be my home, And thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam.

To Moscow, to Moscow, to Moscow!

The impulse for much writing is homesickness. You are trying to get back home, and in your writing you are invoking that home, so you are assuaging the homesickness.

There is always something to miss, no matter where you are.

I've been homesick for countries I've never been, and longed to be where I couldn't be.