Family Quotes - Page 32

My grandpa, unlike Jarod Kintz, was an Elder. Now that he's dead and gone, he's a ghost French wizard. And no one knows what French wizards are good at…

Under her thick pancake makeup, her skin had been pockmarked, but he would stare at her adoringly from his cot at night and imagine her scars were constellations, a secret map to a far-off, happy place.

You should never forget where you come from, never forget the struggle, never forget the lives that were lost.

Mothers and their children are in a category all their own. There's no bond so strong in the entire world. No love so instantaneous and forgiving.

He felt like a brother of mine, but not at all like my actual brother. He seemed like someone I'd always know even if I never saw him again.

I believe that I can teach my children to follow their dreams by following my own.

Your friends can be double-edged knife thy can either nurture you or destroy you. Choose them Wisely......

I love my family so much that it brings tears to my eyes.

May you reach that level within, where you no longer allow your past or people with toxic intentions to negatively affect or condition you.

Our ancestors derived less from life than we do, but they also expected much less and were less intent on controlling the future. We are of the arrogant generations who believe a lasting happiness was promised to us at birth. Promised? By whom?

We all fight for money, some for power, but most of all for love. But me, I fight to become a champion.

A Christian has tremendous responsibilities to his own family. He or she has a responsibility of loving each member of the family.

It figured my family would get along better with Clark than they did me.

Home is where you are loved the most and act the worst.

Nothing crushes the soul of a father more than the loss of the beloved son he failed to lavish his love on.

Strangers are just family you have yet to come to know.

The crux of our conflict lay in the fact that we each couldn't be who we wanted the other to be.

There are two things in life you cannot choose. The first is your enemies; the second your family. Sometimes the difference between them is hard to see, but in the end time will show you that the cards you have been dealt could always have been worse.

A prisoner should know that there are thousands of imprisoned freemen living in this world…jailed in their own society, handcuffed by duties..

Family," she announced. "They're the people in your life you don't get to pick. The ones that are given to you,as opposed to those you get to choose.""You're bound to them by blood," she continued, her voice flat. "Which, you know, gives you that much more in common. Diseases, genetics, hair, and eye color. It's like they're part of your blueprint. If something's wrong with you, you can usually trace it back to them."I nodded and kept writing."But," she said, "even though you're stuck with them, at the same time, they're also stuck with you. So that's why they always get the front rows at christenings and funerals. Because they're the ones that are there, you know, from the beginning to the end. Like it or not.

Our home is a belonging place.

We drank coffee. We talked. She loved Charles Dickens, whom she read in Norwegian. Years after she was dead, I wrote a dissertation on Dickens, and though my study of the great man would no doubt have alarmed her, I had a funny feeling that by taking on the English novelist I was returning to my Norwegian roots.

I couldn't imagine what it would be like to be one of so many, to have not just parents and siblings but cousins and aunts and uncles, an entire tribe to claim as your own. Maybe you would feel lost in the crowd. Or sheltered by it. Whatever the case, one things was for sure: like it or not, you'd never be alone.

How can I expect readers to know who I am if I do not tell them about my family, my friends, the relationships in my life? Who am I if not where I fit in the world, where I fit in the lives of the people dear to me?

We are loved way more by some of the people who have not contacted us in the last twelve or so months than we are loved by some of those who contact us every twelve or so days … or hours.

Appeasers will always try to get the least dangerous person to bend to the most dangerous person. This is one of the main problems in dysfunctional relationships. The more mature and rational you are the more you are victimized because, they are aware that you're not going to be as aggressive, destructive, or possibly as abusive and so you are the one who has to bend. You're the one who has to change and this constant rapping of rational people's souls around the prickly irrationalities of other people are what appeasers are constantly doing.

They called each other family and that’s what they were—sisters. Many people in the world had family of the heart, kin by choice rather than by blood, and hers had come along in her darkest hour and saved her life.

We are living a fantasy life in our heads, and our real life is passing by, moment by moment.Life is only lived in moments: anything else is a fantasy, a lie, an illusion.

The light of love is life.

But being a brother or a sister (if you are lucky enough) is the role of a lifetime.

We create karma by all kinds of selfish actions.The first thing we must understand is that we are psychologically asleep.It is very difficult for us to be conscious of ourselves. We are not very aware. We must come to recognize that we do not pay attention.

War is catastrophe. It breaks families in irretrievable pieces. But those who are gone are not necessarily lost.

My father was one of those men who sit in a room and you can feel it: the simmer, the sense of some unpredictable force that might, at any moment, break loose, and do something terrible. [Burnside, p. 27]

I liked the fact that I could be who I wanted to be without my sister's voice reminding me of who I had been.

How can it be, after all this concentrated effort and separation, how can it be that I still resemble, so very closely, my own detestable mother?

I been with strangers all day and they treated me like family. I come in here to family and you treat me like a stranger.

In the early 1970s, racial and gender discrimination was still prevalent. The easy camaraderie prevailing in the operating room evaporated at the completion of surgical procedures. There was an unspoken pecking order of seating arrangements at lunch among my fellow physicians. At the top were the white male 'primary producers' in prestigious surgical specialties. They were followed by the internists. Next came the general practitioners. Last on the list were the hospital-based physicians: the radiologists, pathologists and anaesthesiologists - especially non-white, female ones like me. Apart from colour, we were shunned because we did not bring in patients ourselves but, like vultures, lived off the patients generated by other doctors. We were also resented because being hospital-based and not having to rent office space or hire nursing staff, we had low overheads. Since a physician's number of admissions to the hospital and referral pattern determined the degree of attention and regard accorded by colleagues, it was safe for our peers to ignore us and target those in position to send over income-producing referrals. This attitude was mirrored from the board of directors all the way down to the orderlies.

I faded out. I was for a moment my father tapping on his cigarette, the way he holds it, crushing it flat. I was my mother at the sink, staring into the desert from the kitchen window, dishes in hand. I was in all the beds I'd ever slept in. Me sinking into the sheets, letting my thoughts fall down. I was running alongside the ocean, Laura splashing me with water. I was dancing to a melody I did not recognize, spinning wild and lovely into exalted leaps. I was no one again. I was someone with no name, no past. My face resumed the freshness of birth, the brightness was again in my eyes, the brightness only children own before life begins its wreckage.

It has an L on it. L for love. See? It's the key to the universe, Dad. You said you were looking for it. You told Mom you were. I found it for you so you don't have to look anymore. So you can come home at night.

My mother's gifts of courage to me were both large and small. The latter are woven so subtly into the fabric of my psyche that I can hardly distinguish where she stops and I begin.

Forgive me, my sons. I've been defeated by this despicable idiot. This is as far as I go.I leave everything to you.You have my gratitude. Farewell, my sons.

Husband and wife, must complement each other.

...Food serves two parallel purposes: it nourishes and it helps you remember. Eating and storytelling are inseparable—the saltwater is also tears; the honey not only tastes sweet, but makes us think of sweetness; the matzo is the bread of our affliction.

Growing older doesn't mean that you are more mature than everyone who is younger than you. Maturity is a lot of things, and age has nothing to do with it.

Most of our brains are out, but it is good what they did for themselves by leaving this country. They are Cameroon’s reserve for development, for the day that this country shall be free. Your late father was an intelligent man. He was even more than that. He was a sage. He once said to me that the intelligent Bamilekés are those who have sought a better future for themselves and for their families in British Cameroons. He was right. They have not been brainwashed as much as their francophone brothers have. If he were alive today, I am sure he would have judged that the intelligent Cameroonians are those who have sought refuge out of Cameroon.

The most important thing a father can do for his children is to love their mother.

Memories of the past are what drive us, whether to a life of beauty or a life of insanity is up to us.

Being a detective isn't all about torture and murder and monsters. Sometimes it gets truly unpleasant...The fate of the world may depend on whether or not you can bring yourself to visit your relatives.

Everything has a past, a voice, existed at some point, even things as small and seemingly meaningless as a house in a huge suburb. It’s a house like every other house… but at some point a family lived there, made it theirs, made it important. When people forget that history, that somebody at some point thought the house mattered, it just becomes an empty pile of nailed wood and brick and concrete that gets torn down for some strip mall or chain store to take its place… and that’s what happens more and more now, everything is disposable, always replaced with no thought at all. That’s where things get lost, memories get lost, humanity slips through the cracks, because when we all fail to pay attention to the things that make up our lives, we’re no longer human at all, not really.

Family. Couldn't live with them, couldn't run a stake through them.

Because even if the whole world was throwing rocks at you, if you still had your mother or father at your back, you'd be okay.

Family: a foundation! Family: a ‘cloth’ keeps the ‘body’!

Mahtab looked out of the window at the moon clearing the rooftops, bathing everything around in its silver light. She sighed, envying Nasim's freedom. For just like Mahtab's namesake, as the moonlight was beholden to the sun, she was beholden to her family.

Thanks, Mom. Thanks for making me try out for this play.'I think I might have just made being a mother totally worthwhile for her.I will try to never forget her face...Mom's got tears in her eyes and she's smiling. It's an amazing look.I have to remember how powerful it can be to say thank you.Especially to the people you live with.

It was the cruelest of destiny’s tricks, the death of a young person.

If you live in each other's pockets long enough, you're related.

So, you see; you have the soul of a missionary, the heart of a revolutionary and the mind of a reformer. But what are you to yourself and the family and friends who will always be there for you?

Human interaction. The most complicated form of happiness I will never figure out.

I live precariously through my characters - so I want them to be loved passionately, live vibrantly, love unconditionally. Make friends they would die for - Explore unimaginable possibilities from all warps of life. And to never forget those that held their hands when life got scary. Wiped their tears away after a broken heart. Helped them back on their feet when others let them down. I want my characters to have family and friends - just like mine :)

You don’t need to provide your parents with a “success story” to share at gatherings.