More than anything else, I want the folks back at home to think right of me.

Just because I managed to do a little something, I do not want anyone back home to think I got the big head.

If you go away on location for three months and your wife stays at home, you've made a whole new load of friends and she is made a whole new load of friends and you get home and you are kind of strangers.

My real fantasy if I was to drop out would be to live in a mobile home and be a hippie and drive around festivals and have millions of children - children with dreadlocks and nose rings - and play the flute.

I like to think of myself at home in the armchair, writing, smoking and occasionally wandering down the shop.

I live by Go big or go home. That is with everything. It is like either commit and go for it or do not do it at all. I apply that to everything. I apply that to relationships, I apply that to like sports, I apply that to everything. That is what I live by. That is how I like it.

All things on earth point home in old October sailors to sea, travellers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken.

My mother was determined to make us independent. When I was four years old, she stopped the car a few miles from our house and made me find my own way home across the fields. I got hopelessly lost.

I have an abacus at home.

The desire to hit a big home run is dominating the music business.

I like my home and I like the nature.

I left home because I was hungry.

Let woman out of the home, let man into it, should be the aim of education. The home needs man, and the world outside needs woman.

Our poverty will be brought home to us to its full extent only after the war.

One of the great privileges of having grown up in a middle-class literary English household, but having gone to school in the front lines in Southeast London, was that I became half-street-urchin and half-good-boy at home. I knew that dichotomy was possible.

Sometimes in the past when I played something might make me lose focus, or I would go home after a game where I thought I could have played better and I would let it hang over my head for a long time when it shouldn't.

Akron, Ohio, is my home. It will always be remembered. Akron, Ohio, is my life.

I have no idea how to get in touch with anyone anymore. Everyone, it seems, has a home phone, a cell phone, a regular e-mail account, a Facebook account, a Twitter account, and a Web site. Some of them also have a Google Voice number. There are the sentimental few who still have fax machines.

I want to let my friend Buster know that I would like to have dinner with him tonight. Does Buster work at home? Then how likely is he to have his cell phone on? Is he one of those people who only turns on his cell when he is in his car? I hate that.

I remember, when I was a kid, watching my mother jam herself into her girdle - a piece of equipment so rigid it could stand up on its own - and I remember her coming home from fancy parties and racing upstairs to extricate herself from its cruel iron grip.