My birthplace was California, but I couldn't forget Armenia, so what is one's country? Is it land of the earth, in a specific place? Rivers there? Lakes? The sky there? The way the moon comes up there? And the sun? Is one's country the trees, the vineyards, the grass, the birds, the rocks, the hills and summer and winter? Is it the animal rhythm of the living there? The huts and houses, the streets of cities, the tables and chairs, and the drinking of tea and talking? Is it the peach ripening in summer heat on the bough? Is it the dead in the earth there?

I have been to the place, Armenia. There is no nation there, but that is all the better. But I have been to that place, and I know this: that there is no natio…

My uncle jumped up from the desk, loving him more than he loved any other man in the world, and through him loving the lost nation, the multitude dead, and the…

I believe there are ways whose ends are life instead of death.

She had never known before how much the country meant to her. The chirping of the insects in the long grass had been like the sweetest music. She had felt as i…

Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, His first, best country ever is, at home.

Now I possess and am possessed of the land where I would be, And the curve of half Earth's generous breast shall soothe and ravish me!