You only hate the road when you are missing home.

A house is made of walls and beams; a home is built with love and warmth.

We don’t call it homesick. We call it missing home. There’s not a sickness involved, it’s a state of mind.

Home is where we should feel secure and comfortable.

Your heart can never leave home.

The light is what guides you home, the warmth is what keeps you there.

Keeping calm is just impossible when it comes to missing my home.

Home is not a place it’s a feeling.

A home is a place you grow up wanting to leave and grow old wanting to get back to.

Sitting here missing home like crazy.

There’s no place like home. And I do miss my home.

If you go anywhere, even paradise, you will miss your home.

I just want to come back home.

You could walk out of the house, but you always returned home.

Music is like a dream. One that I cannot hear

Music is the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life.

How is it that music can, without words, evoke our laughter, our fears, our highest aspirations?

Music is an agreeable harmony for the honor of God and the permissible delights of the soul.

Music begins where the possibilities of language end.