Elie Wiesel Quotes

There are a thousand ways to kneel and kiss the ground; there are a thousand ways to go home again.

I come to Jerusalem. There, the sky is blue and memory becomes clear.

I traveled with then-Senator Obama to Israel in 2008. I will never forget our time in the holy city of Jerusalem and following behind him as he approached the Western Wall - and even in the dark hours of that very early morning, it was a place bustling with energy afforded by one's faith.

My family has been rooted and intertwined with Jerusalem for generations, and I am among those who say every day, 'May You return to Your city, Jerusalem, with compassion.'

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

Mumbai is where my heart is. This is home.

I've always believed there is a better place somewhere. I feel like I'm E.T. and I'm just passing through.

Roads go ever ever on, Over rock and under tree, By caves where never sun has shone, By streams that never find the sea; Over snow by winter sown, And through the merry flowers of June, Over grass and over stone, And under mountains of the moon. Roads go ever ever on Under cloud and under star, Yet feet that wandering have gone Turn at last to home afar. Eyes that fire and sword have seen And horror in the halls of stone Look at last on meadows green And trees and hills they long have known

Home, I learned, can be anywhere you make it. Home is also the place to which you come back again and again.

I've been thinking about you constantly since I left, wondering why the journey I'm on seemed to have led through you. I know my journey's not over yet, and that life is a winding path, but I can only hope it somehow circles back to the place I belong. That's how I think of it now. I belong with you.

Love is . . .” An old memory with Adrian came back to me, and some of the turbulent emotion I always carried within me these days welled up in my chest. It was stupid, feeling so lovesick when he’d been gone less than a day, but I couldn’t get him or the ways he described love out of my head. “. . . a flame in the dark. A breath of warmth on a winter’s night. A star that guides you home.

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

It all begins and ends in the same place, doesn't it? Conor and me in Ballyutogue. We all come home eventually.

and yet I feel that the most real home I'll ever have is the space where our roads merged and traveled along together... for a time.

My turning point was my pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. It was then that I, who had dedicated most of my life to penetrate the 'secrets' of the universe, realized that there are no secrets. Life is and will always be a mystery.

I go back to where I came from, to where I was before I was born, that’s all.

Get back to where you once belonged.

There is no beauty or romance or mystery in the sea except for the men that sail abroad upon it, and those who stay at home and dream of them.

Do you remember the church across the sands? You stood outside and planned to travel the lands, where the pilgrims go. So you packed your world up inside a canvas sack, set off down the highway with your rings and Kerouac. Someone said they saw you in Nepal a long time back. Tell me why you look away, don't you have a word to say?

Don't you realize that the sea is the home of water? All water is off on a journey unless it's in the sea, and it's homesick, and bound to make its way home someday.

Coming back to Israel is a homecoming.

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. . . .

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

I still want to return home whenever I get a chance.