Anais Nin Quotes

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

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

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

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.

When I left Spain, I had it very clear in my mind that I would return one day.

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

I do find myself missing the energy of New York more and more often as my time away from the city progresses.

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

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

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

So I find words I never thought to speak In streets I never thought I should revisit When I left my body on a distant shore.

People dreamed. People left. And they all came back.

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.

But the thing about remembering is that you don't forget.

I'm surprised by how much I remember.

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

When I thinkof my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there; But alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair.

I never miss England.

I will always be haunted by thoughts of a sun-drenched elsewhere.

Some people speak and sing and walk and sit and sleep and silence their homesickness, for a long time, and to no avail. Some say that over time homesickness loses its specific content, that it starts to smolder and only then becomes all-consuming, because it’s no longer focused on a concrete home. I am one of the people who say that.

When I first left Iran at the age of 13, Iran had become such a shining star - it was the point to which all my desires and dreams returned.