Hjemme

Mole og Ratty er ute og går i vintermørket, og plutselig overmannes Mole av en lukt (vårt patetiske menneskeord for «the whole range of delicate thrills which murmur in the nose of the animal night and day, summoning, warning? inciting, repelling») som forteller ham at han er hjemme. Men Ratty har dårlig tid og hører ham ikke.

'I know it's a – shabby, dingy little place,' he sobbed forth at last, brokenly: 'not like – your cosy quarters – or Toad's beautiful hall – or Badger's great house – but it was my own little home – and I was fond of it – and I went away and forgot all about it – and then I smelt it suddenly – on the road, when I called and you wouldn't listen, Rat – and everything came back to me with a rush – and I WANTED it! – O dear, O dear! – and when you WOULDN'T turn back, Ratty – and I had to leave it, though I was smelling it all the time – I thought my heart would break. – We might have just gone and had one look at it, Ratty – only one look – it was close by – but you wouldn't turn back, Ratty, you wouldn't turn back! O dear, O dear!'

Kenneth Grahame: The Wind in the Willows

Det er nok noe av det mest rørende jeg vet om, og det sier det meste man trenger å vite om behovet for å være hjemme et sted.