Home is where the heart is, until we get a chance to bury it. Home is where the heart pulled the nails out of its feet, and fled.
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-lined and six feet under.
I guess home is where the heart is, as they say. I've moved around the stage a lot - but I had intended on moving to New York anyway so I could live closer to Ireland and to Europe. That's where my sensibility is. This has just facilitated that process.
Home is where you hang your head.
I don't know what's wrong with that girl.
Home is where you hang your hangover.
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