Time is thy barque, and not thy dwelling-place.

Life is your barque not your home!

Life is your barque not your home!”80

The world is a force not a presence.

We are pilgrims, not settlers; this earth is our inn, not our home.

"We are never at home, we are always beyond. Fear, desire, hope, project us toward the future and steal from us the consideration of what is, to busy us with what will be, even when we shall no longer be."

-from "Our feelings reach out beyond us"

For the world, I count it not an Inn, but a Hospital, and a place, not to live, but to die in.

[A]nd soon now we shall go out of the house and go into the convulsion of the world, out of history into history and the awful responsibility of Time.

There is no home left for universal souls, except perhaps in Antarctica or on the high seas

But a wide sea voyage severs us at once. It makes us conscious of being cast loose from the secure anchorage of settled life, and sent adrift upon a doubtful world. It interposes a gulf, not merely imaginary, but real, between us and our homes — a gulf, subject to tempest, and fear, and uncertainty, rendering distance palpable, and return precarious.

You have navigated with raging soul far from the paternal home, passing beyond the seas' double rocks and now you inhabit a foreign land.

Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

Whoever wants music instead of noise, joy instead of pleasure, soul instead of gold, creative work instead of business, passion instead of foolery, finds no home in this trivial world of ours.

You were my home
for so long.
Now I realize that humans
cannot
be homes.
If homes can leave,
then they are not
homes.