Middle age is when you have a choice of two temptations and choose the one that will get you home earlier.

Your hometown is where they can’t figure out how you did as well as you did.

Home is where you can say anything you like ’cause nobody listens to you anyway.’

Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam.

Home, to a small boy, is merely a filling station.

Home: The place where we are treated best and grumble most.

Thank God for dirty dishes; they have a tale to tell. While other folk go hungry, we’re eating pretty well. With home and health and happiness, we shouldn’t want to fuss; For by this stack of evidence, God’s very good to us.

Home is where you can scratch where it itches.

There’s no place like home, after the other places close.