I remember playing in a tournament when at home we didn't have light, because my mom spent her last money on my sneakers.
Wherever I fly from my own dear nest, I always come back, for home is the best.
One hand, five homes. A lifetime in a fist.
I should like to see any power of the world destroy this race, this small tribe of unimportant people, whose wars have all been fought and lost, whose structures have crumbled, literature is unread, music is unheard, and prayers are no more answered. Go ahead, destroy Armenia . See if you can do it. Send them into the desert without bread or water. Burn their homes and churches. Then see if they will not laugh, sing and pray again. For when two of them meet anywhere in the world, see if they will not create a New Armenia.
It doesn't matter what you all think, what you all say about me, because when I go home at night, the same people that I look in the face, my family that I love, that's all that really matters to me.
There is no place in God's world where there are no people who will come and share a home as long as it is a real home.
Everybody should just stay at home and meditate and they'd be so much happier.
As professionals we have a responsibility of providing a good show for the fans. Getting hits and home runs is what they want to see.
In one family, every little plan or question is discussed amid bickering and irritation. In another, without the least effort, every discussion goes on amid perfect peace. This is just as easy, and infinitely more agreeable: only, in many homes it does not happen to be the family habit.
The white men despise the Indians, and drive them from their homes. But the Indians are not deceitful. The white men speak bad of the Indian, and look at him spitefully. But the Indian does not tell lies; Indians do not steal. An Indian, who is as bad as the white men, could not live in our nation; he would be put to death, and eat up by the wolves.
God is everywhere! the God who framed Mankind to be one, mighty family, Himself our Father, and the world our home.
All I'm saying is [John McCain] cannot look a soldier in the eye and say "Questioning the president is less supportive to you than extending your tour three months." You should be coming home to your family.
I've always said I have nothing against a woman doing anything a man can do as long as she gets home in time to cook dinner.
L.A. just doesn't seem real to me. Chicago does. My real friends are there. It's home.
My parents were part of the Christian Family Movement, where we would have Masses said in our home and rotate with other families. I recall priests coming to our home and saying Mass in our living room. Catholicism was really woven through so much.
Somewhere slightly before or after the close of our second decade, we reach a momentous milestone--childhood's end. We have left asafe place and can't go home again. We have moved into a world where life isn't fair, where life is rarely what it should be.
Eventually we will learn that the loss of indivisible love is another of our necessary losses, that loving extends beyond the mother-child pair, that most of the love we receive in this world is love we will have to share--and that sharing begins at home, with our sibling rivals.
It's 5 P.M. at the office. Working fast, you've finished your tasks for the day and want to go home. But none of your colleagues have left yet, so you stay another hour or two, surfing the Web and reading your e-mails again, so you don't come off as a slacker. It's an unfortunate reality that efficiency often goes unrewarded in the workplace.
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