“Home, Ms. Lane?” His deep voice was gently amused.“I have to call it something,” I said morosely. “They say home is where the heart is. I think mine’s satin-linedand six feet under.”
“I don't want to say something cheesy like 'home is where the heart is,' but home is definitely where the heart is. And my heart is, and has always been, with you.”
“They say that 'home is where the heart is.' I think it is where the house is, and the adjacent buildings.”
“Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.”
“No matter what,” he said, his voice fierce and strong and rumbling through me. “You told me I was home to you and I get it. You’re home to me. I’ve never had a home. I like the one I found and I’m not losin’ it. No matter what.”
“I say that home is where there is a chair and a glass.”