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Quote by Marjorie Holmes

“At Christmas, all roads lead home.”

Quote by Marjorie Holmes

Author

Marjorie Holmes

Marjorie Holmes was an American author known for her Christian-themed literary works. Her writings spanned various genres including novels, non-fiction, and children's literature, and she was a prominent figure in 20th-century American Christian literature. more

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“I dread the beginning of her new life more than words can tell, but I see some hope for her if she travels - none if she remains at home.”

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“The Pacific is my home ocean; I knew it first, grew up on its shore, collected marine animals along the coast. I know its moods, its color, its nature.”

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Book:Travels with Charley: In Search of America

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“Sara knew that behind its locked front door no home was routine. Not the house of her childhood, not the apartment of her husband's. not the world they were building together with Willow and Patrick. All households had their mysteries, their particular forms of dysfunction.”

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“You know that old saying about home being where the heart is? I don’t think that refers to your own. It’s the hearts of other people, the ones you love, that makes a home.”

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“You have asked me what I would do and what I would not do. I will tell you what I will do and what I will not do. I will not serve that in which I no longer believe, whether it call itself my home, my fatherland, or my church: and I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can, using for my defence the only arms I allow myself to use— silence, exile, and cunning.”

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Book:A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

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“There it is." And he watched with now-gentle sorrow and now-quick delight, and at last quiet acceptance as all the bits and pieces of his house mixed, stirred, settled, poised, and ran steadily again. "The Happiness Machine," he said. "The Happiness Machine.”

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“And when I look into his eyes there’s a feeling of something I can only describe as familiarity, a sense of safety. Like coming home.”

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“He had been haunted his whole life by a mild case of claustrophobia—the vestige of a childhood incident he had never quite overcome. Langdon’s aversion to closed spaces was by no means debilitating, but it had always frustrated him. It manifested itself in subtle ways. He avoided enclosed sports like racquetball or squash, and he had gladly paid a small fortune for his airy, high-ceilinged Victorian home even though economical faculty housing was readily available. Langdon had often suspected his attraction to the art world as a young boy sprang from his love of museums’ wide open spaces.”

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“It's funny. That feeling of home. It's so temporary, like bathwater: the warmth eventually grows cold.”

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“Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone, it's where you go when're you're alone, its were you go to rest your bones. It's not just where you lay your head, it's not just where you make your bead. As long as we're together does it matter where we go?”

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