A Quote by Jean Little
In this life, nobody has forever in which to leave home, to return, to make a new home, or to open the door to someone. Death doesn't wait while we tidy everything up. And there are several kinds of dying.
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One's home is like a delicious piece of pie you order in a restaurant on a country road one cozy evening - the best piece of pie you have ever eaten in your life - and can never find again. After you leave home, you may find yourself feeling homesick, even if you have a new home that has nicer wallpaper and a more efficient dishwasher than the home in which you grew up.
This world is not my home, I'm just a passing thro', My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue; the angels beckon me from heaven's open door, and I can't feel at home in this world any more. 0 Lord, you know, I have no friend like you, if heaven's not my home then Lord what will I do; the angels beckon me from heaven's open door, and I can't feel at home in this world anymore.
Death is the door from the superficial life, the so-called life, the trivial. There is a door. If you pass through the door you reach another life - deeper, eternal, without death, deathless. So from so-called life, which is really nothing but dying, one has to pass through the door of death; only then does one achieve a life that is really existential and active - without death in it.
Home is a blueprint of memory...Finding home is crucial to the act of writing. Begin here. With what you know. With the tales you've told dozens of times...with the map you've already made in your heart. That's where the real home is: inside. If we carry that home with us all the time, we'll be able to take more risks. We can leave on wild excursions, knowing we'll return home.
The real you, the inner you, is pure, very pure. It's loving and it's magnanimous. It understands. It has patience. It is tolerant-it will wait forever while your ego trots all over everywhere trying to figure life out. It is pleasing to remember that back home there is a friend who's waiting for you to stop being silly, who's waiting to welcome you with open arms if and when you show up.
The big truth for men is that often we have to leave home in the first half of life before we can return home at a later stage and find our soul there.
I have two homes, like someone who leaves their hometown and/or parents and then establishes a life elsewhere. They might say that they're going home when they return to see old friends or parents, but then they go home as well when they go to where they live now. Sarajevo is home, Chicago is home.
There's a duty and an obligation to community that we must teach our children to honor no matter how far they go. Life is like baseball: You only score when you leave home and return home.
In the state I was in, if someone had come and told me I could go home quietly, that they would leave me my life whole, it would have left me cold: several hours or several years of waiting is all the same when you have lost the illusion of being eternal.
I love to cook. In fact, at this exact moment, I am trying something new: I am cooking a whole chicken in my crockpot, which I've never done before. I browned it with garlic powder, salt and pepper, and I put a bunch of celery and onions - which I'll have to hide from the children because they claim to hate onions - and I'm going to make homemade mashed cream potatoes. I always, before I leave for work in the morning, have supper cooking. That way, when I come home and they come home from school, there's all kinds of good smells in the house.
When I was little, I would open up lawnmowers and try to make them go faster. I wasn't strong enough to do some things, so I'd wait for my dad to get home from work to help me. He was great, but he never really encouraged me, and I'll be the same if I have kids: I'll leave them to do their own thing.
I have a neat and tidy bed when I reach home but a cluttered one by the time I leave.
There are two tests in life, more important than any other test. On Monday morning, when you wake up, do you feel in the pit of your stomach you can't wait to go to work? And when you're ready to go home Friday afternoon, do you say, 'I can't wait to go home?'
After school, I'd wait for someone to pick me up and no one would, so I'd be like, 'I guess I'll walk home.' I had to be a hustler, because nobody did anything for me.
Home is watching the moon rise over the open, sleeping land and having someone you can call to the window, so you can look together. Home is where you dance with others, and dancing is life.
Coming home to a tidy, pulled-together space will help everything in your life feel the same way.
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