Mallory Jansen Quotes

I don't go back home to Sardinia as much as I would like, just for Christmas and family events.

I miss the summer nights in Dallas.

The eight years of war since 9/11 had meant several Christmases away from home for most of these men. For soldiers at war, there's comforting continuity in the traditions and inevitability of Christmas.

In France, Christmas is a family holiday. You stay home. New Year's Eve is when you go out.

No matter where I am in the world, I will always be back home for Christmas.

Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childhood days, recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth, and transport the traveler back to his own fireside and quiet home!

Certainly, nothing would stop me coming home for Christmas, if I can. But I've worked a lot in theatre, and in theatre in New York, we work Christmas Day a lot of the time as well.

I'm still a Chicagoan in the fact that I can't do Christmas with sand and palm trees. It just doesn't compute - it's not Christmas unless your face hurts when you step outside.

On Christmas Eve, it's my wife and my son and my daughter and I. We're home, and we open our presents together on Christmas Day, and then after we go visit the rest of the family.

Australia is always a place that is dear to me; it is always my second home, and I try to get there as often as I can, but it is not next door, you know.

All my summer and Puja vacations were spent in Calcutta with my didima and a host of other relatives and friends.

Summer — summer — summer! The soundless footsteps on the grass!

But just as soon as this war's over and finished with,I'll get back home and marry her.I've grown up with her, Joey, known her all my life. S'pose I know her almost as well as I know myself, and I like her a lot better.

Summers are the best. And I figured summer was my best time for meeting someone, too, because in the summer people are looking for someone to snuggle up with for the winter. And because in the summer I could take off my shirt.

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

Africa, help me to go home, carry me like an aged child in your arms. Undress me and wash me. Strip me of all of these garments, strip me as a man strips off dreams when the dawn comes. . . .

June is bustin' out all over.

But my memories are like a fire in winter—whenever I'm cold I can warm my hands at them. —Ditta

I've had a splendid time," she concluded happily, "and I feel that it marks an epoch in my life. But the best of it all was the coming home.

Looking forward to going home, I was necessarily looking backward.

Paradoxically, only journeying backward in time and reentering the home we once knew allows us to go forward to the home we've always wanted.

I always felt like I was right out of Dickens, looking in the window of the Christmas feast, but not at the feast.