I like to collect quotes about the subject of “home.”  Here is a recent one, gleaned from Naomi Shihab Nye’s lovely book, THE TURTLE OF OMAN. 

       “What makes a place your own?  What makes a home a home?  It wasn’t something simple, like a familiar bench, or a fisherman’s yellow sweater vest with a hole in it, or the nut-man’s fat red turban.  It was more mysterious, like a village with tiny stacked houses, so many windows and doors with soft flickers shining out into the night.  You weren’t sure who lived in any of them, but you felt you could knock on any door and the people inside might know some of the same things you knew or welcome you in—just because you all belonged there.  They might tip their heads and say, “Oh yes, aren’t you that boy with the stones in his pockets?  You want some soup?” and it would be lentil soup, which you loved.  Or maybe it was how the beach air smelled--- salty and sweet  in whirls.  You didn’t have to do anything to feel comfortable here.  You just walked outside, took a long breath and thought—Yes.  Sure.  Here I am.”
       I am on page 166 of this book but already, I find myself going back to re-read certain passages.  It is a book to savor.