How does it feel, how does it feel to be without a home, like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone.

An empty house is like a stray dog or a body from which life has departed.

How Do I Live in This Strange Place?

I didn’t feel at home in life.

For large minds, the Earth is a small place. Not small enough to exhaust in one lifetime, but a compact home, cozy, buoyant, a place to cherish, the spectral center of our life. But how could we stay at home forever?

Unless you are at home in the metaphor, you are not safe anywhere.

Translation: I'm a living corpse, untombed, undraped,
Unwelcome in the alien land, exiled from home and hearth.

To be alive is to in­habit a nightmare without hope of awakening to a natural world, to have our bodies embedded neck-deep in a quagmire of dread, to live as shut-ins in a house of horrors from which nobody gets out alive.

No creature loves an empty space;
Their bodies measure out their place.

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

We are all strangers in a strange land, longing for home, but not quite knowing what or where home is. We glimpse it sometimes in our dreams, or as we turn a corner, and suddenly there is a strange, sweet familiarity that vanishes almost as soon as it comes.

Une maison sans livres est comme un corps sans âme.

Would you treat this world like home? It isn’t. The greatest calamity is not to feel far from home when you are, but to feel right at home when you are not. Don’t squelch, but rather, stir this longing for heaven.

A house is not a home unless it contains food and fire for the mind as well as the body.