Yotam Ottolenghi Quotes

You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it's all right.

It's strange coming back to Northern Ireland, but it feels like a home away from home.

On the flight over to the Gulf of Mexico, I wondered about how they say you can never go home again, but maybe an equally expensive reality is how many people, regardless of how many years or miles they put between themselves and where they were born, are never truly able to leave home.

I never seem to leave L.A., though I left L.A.

Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.

New York has given me a lot, but I still don't consider it home.

All exiles carry a map within them that points the way homeward.

But why had he always felt so strongly the magnetic pull of home, why had he thought so much about it and remembered it with such blazing accuracy, if it did not matter, and if this little town, and the immortal hills around it, was not the only home he had on earth? He did not know. All that he knew was that the years flow by like water, and that one day men come home again.

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.

I've gone very far, far away, but my character keeps me close to home.

All I ever want is to return to either Bangladesh, my motherland, or India, my adopted home.

I can't really live outside Jamaica. I can be away, but only for a while.

I'm living in California but I have a place that is mine in Chile and I belong there. I am no longer an exile.

Homeland is something one becomes aware of only through its loss.

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

In the poetry of immigrants, nostalgia is as common as confetti at parades or platitudes at political conventions.

I don't really think of Minnesota when I think of home.

I've lived in Texas now longer than anywhere and then California and then Oklahoma, but yet Oklahoma is what I consider home.

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.

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.

Philosophy is really nostalgia, the desire to be at home.

You don’t have a home until you leave it and then, when you have left it, you never can go back.

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