I'll Be Home for Christmas Quotes

“Villagers all, this frosty tide,
Let your doors swing open wide,
Though wind may flow and snow betide
Yet draw us in by your fire to bide:
Joy shall be yours in the morning.

Here we stand in the cold
and the sleet,
Blowing fingers and stamping feet,
Come from far away, you to greet—
You by the fire and we in the street—
Bidding you joy in the morning.

For ere one half of the
night was gone,
Sudden a star has led us on,
Raining bliss and benison—
Bliss tomorrow and more anon,
Joy for every morning.

Good man Joseph toiled
through the snow—
Saw the star o’er the stable low;
Mary she might not further go—
Welcome thatch and litter below!
Joy was hers in the morning.

And then they heard the angels tell,
“Who were the first to cry Nowell?
Animals all as it befell,
In the stable where they did dwell!
Joy shall be theirs in the morning.”

Kenneth Grahame
The Wind in the Willows”
― Thomas Kinkade, I'll Be Home for Christmas

“There had never been such a Christmas as this. It was such a large, rich Christmas, the whole church full of Christmas. There were so many lamps, so many people, so much noise and laughter, and so many happinesses in it. Laura felt full and bursting, as if that whole big rich Christmas were inside her, and her mittens and her beautiful jewelbox with the wee gold cup-and-saucer and teapot, and her candy and her popcorn ball. And suddenly someone said, “These are for you, Laura.”
Mrs. Tower stood smiling, holding out the little fur cape and muff.
“For me?” Laura said. “For me?” Then everything else vanished while with both arms she hugged the soft furs to her. . . .
“What do you say, Laura?” Ma asked, but the Reverend Alden said, “There is no need. The way her eyes are shining is enough. . . .”

Laura Ingalls Wilder
On the Banks of Plum Creek”
― Thomas Kinkade, I'll Be Home for Christmas

“Come home with me a little space
And browse about our ancient place,
Lay by your wonted troubles here
And have a turn of Christmas cheer.
These sober walls of weathered stone
Can tell a romance of their own,
And these wide rooms of devious line
Are kindly meant in their design.
Sometimes the north wind searches through,
But he shall not be rude to you.
We’ll light a log of generous girth
For winter comfort, and the mirth
Of healthy children you shall see
About a sparkling Christmas tree. . . .
And you may chafe the wasting oak,
Or freely pass the kindly joke
To mix with nuts and home-made cake
And apples set on coals to bake.
Or some fine carol we will sing
In honor of the Manger-King. . . .
These dear delights we fain would share
With friend and kinsman everywhere,
And from our door see them depart
Each with a little lighter heart.

Leslie Pinckney Hill”
― Thomas Kinkade, I'll Be Home for Christmas

“This,” said Mr. Pickwick, looking around him, “this is, indeed, comfort.”
“Our invariable custom,” replied Mr. Wardle.
“Everybody sits down with us on Christmas eve, as you see them now—servants and all; and here we wait till the clock strikes twelve, to usher Christmas in, and wile away the time with forfeits and old stories. Trundle, my boy, rake up the fire.”

Up flew the bright sparks in myriads as the logs were stirred, and the deep red blaze sent forth a rich glow, that penetrated into the furthest corner of the room, and cast its cheerful tint on every face.
“Come,” said Wardle, “a song—a Christmas song.”

Charles Dickens
The Pickwick Papers”
― Thomas Kinkade, I'll Be Home for Christmas

“And I do come home at Christmas. We all do, or we all should. We all come home, or ought to come home, for a short holiday--the longer, the better . . .

Charles Dickens, A Christmas Tree”
― Thomas Kinkade, I'll Be Home for Christmas

“It was the policy of the good old gentleman to make his children feel that home was the happiest place in the world; and I value this delicious home-feeling as one of the choicest gifts a parent can bestow.

Washington Irving, Christmas Eve”
― Thomas Kinkade, I'll Be Home for Christmas

“The door is on the latch tonight,
The hearth-fire is aglow,
I seem to hear soft passing feet-
The Christchild in the snow.

My heart is open wide tonight
For strangers, kith or kin;
I would not bar a single door
Where love might enter in.

Author unknown”
― Thomas Kinkade, I'll Be Home for Christmas