#home

In Birmingham, Manchester or Liverpool there are white gangs that share the same backgrounds - they come from broken homes, completely dysfunctional, mums for the most part unable to cope, the fathers of these kids completely not in the scene. ↗

— Iain Duncan Smith

#birmingham #broken #come #completely #cope

Lulu twirled in front of Jolene, banging into the seat. her eyes sparkled in that I'm-either-going-to-scream-or-fall-asleep-any-second kind of way. ↗

— Kristin Hannah

#home

Places are supposed to look smaller when you go back to them, but my road just looked schizoid. A couple of the houses had had nifty little makeovers involving double glazing and amusing faux-antique pastel paint; most of them hadn't. Number 16 looked like it was on its last legs: the roof was in tatters, there was a pile of bricks and a dead wheelbarrow by the front steps, and at some point in the last twenty years someone had set the door on fire. In Number 8, a window on the first floor was lit up, gold and cozy and dangerous as hell. ↗

— Tana French

#home #reminiscing #faith

Katar," said Britta, "I thought you would want to stay with your friends from home while they were here, so I had your things moved from your room in the delegates' wing." "You can have my things brought in too," said Peder, throwing himself onto the nearest bed. He sighed as he sank into the soft mattress and rolled onto his side. "Um... I don't think boys are-" Britta began. "Don't you mind me!" Peder pulled a blanket over his head. Miri didn't know how he could even pretend to fall asleep. She could barely keep from pacing. "Don't worry, Britta," said Esa. "We'll kick him out before night. Off to your fancy apprenticeship, big brother." She nudged Peder's shape under the blanket. Peder made an exaggerated snoring noise. ↗

— Shannon Hale

#esa #hale #humor #katar #miri

All I noticed was how the sunlight reflected off Nikki's dark hair, lighting her up like a homing beacon, pulling me to her. Maybe I was the only one who saw it that way. No. The guy who had his arms around her probably saw it that way too. "He has a clinging problem, doesn't he?" I commented. Meredith scoffed. "Epic love clings epically. ↗

— Brodi Ashton

#home

My cheeks are red hot, my lip still trembles, because I sent my heart to speak; every word of it delusional and awkward, an exuberance, an abrupt sound. That's how I spoke, oh, it still shows on my hot cheeks I'm now carrying home. I look down at the snow and walk past many houses, past many hedges, many trees, the snow adorns hedge, tree and house. I walk on, staring down at the snow, on my cheeks nothing but red-hot memory reminding me of my wild talk. ↗

— Robert Walser

#heart #home #returning-home #speak #wild

Then starting home, he walked toward the trees, and under them, leaving behind him the big sky, the whisper of wind voices in the wind-bent wheat. ↗

— Truman Capote

#home

I do think there’s always a way to put things right. If I didn’t believe that I wouldn’t get out of bed in the morning, I wouldn’t eat breakfast; I wouldn’t leave the TARDIS ever. I would never have left home. There is always something we can do. ↗

— Paul Magrs

#tardis #home

Hospitality, however, seeks to minister. It says, "This home is not mine. It is truly a gift from my Master. I am His servant and I use it as He desires." Hospitality does not try to impress, but to serve. ↗

— Karen Burton Mains

#home

For now I'm building up stories for the retirement home! ↗

— Carol Vorderman

#home #i #now #retirement #stories