An excerpt from essay by Marita Golden in the book "three minutes or less: life lessons from America's greatest writers "
Writers are always headed or looking for home. Home is the first sentence, questing into the craggy terrain of imagination. Home is the final sentence, polished, perfected, nailed down. I am an American writer, and so my sense of place is fluid, ever shifting. The spaciousness of this land reigns and pushes against the borders of self-censorship and hesitation. I have claimed at one point or other everyplace as my home.
Based on the meaning of "sentence"(the punishment given by a court), though it obviously would not fit in this case, I think "sentence" still holds a negative connotation. "Home," however, in the passage is what the author seek for.
So what's the other meaning of "sentence" here?