To anyone who is homeless, I say, find a home.
It takes patience to appreciate domestic bliss; volatile spirits prefer unhappiness.
There’s a magical tie to the land of our home, which the heart cannot break, though the footsteps may roam.
In the beginning, Adam was instructed to earn the bread by the sweat of his brow – not Eve. Contrary to conventional wisdom, a mother’s place is in the home!
Now I think poetry will save nothing from oblivion, but I keep writing about the ordinary because for me it’s the home of the extraordinary, the only home.
I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself.
Parents who struggle to get a witness of the Savior into the heart of a child will be helped as they seek for a way to bring the words and the spirit of the Book of Mormon into the home and all the lives in their family.
The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.
I grew very skeptical of certain kind of Jewish separatism in my youth. I mean, I saw the Jewish community was always with each other; they didn’t trust anybody outside. You’d bring someone home, and the first question was, ‘Are they Jewish, are they not Jewish?’
Your home is regarded as a model home, your life as a model life. But all this splendor, and you along with it… it’s just as though it were built upon a shifting quagmire. A moment may come, a word can be spoken, and both you and all this splendor will collapse.