Quotes About Family

But the thing about my granddad is . . . it's kind of hard to convince him people won't just do the right thing. You hate to say anything that sounds hostile or untrusting or small-hearted around him. You feel like he'd be disappointed in you.

She was working on the eighth step of her program and was here in Haverhill to make amends. For years she had not wanted Linda to know Wayne, to be a part of his life. She took pleasure in limiting her mother's contact with the boy, felt it was her job to protect Wayne from Linda. She wished now there had been someone to protect Wayne from herself. She had amends to make to him, too.

He opened his mouth for a plastic spoonful of peach. She followed it with a long kiss that tasted of golden syrup. When she broke away from him he was smiling. Nick, Renée, and Allie began to clap, standing in a line behind them. Harper showed them her middle finger and kissed him again.

They had forgotten their own names, the voices of their mothers, the faces of their fathers.

Goddamn bloody arsefoam. Daddy drilling Mommy on the kitchen table.

He knew, too, from things Vic had not told him, that she missed him and loved him with an intensity perhaps matched only by what she felt for her son.

they had had some good times together, and Buddy had made a decent meal in the end. Really, what else could you ask from a parent? He

They had been Vince's brothers in a way, and Race was his son, and you couldn't drive a man's family to the earth and expect to live.

She thought, too, with a certain calm satisfaction, that if the bridge did crash into the river, ten stories below, and she was smashed in the rubble, it would be her parents' fault for fighting and driving her out of the house, and that would teach them.

Quando cantamos juntos, cantamos por todos aqueles que nos amaram, mas que não estão aqui hoje. Cantamos à memória de cada minuto que tivemos na sua companhia.

He glanced over at the woman who had never been his wife but who had, incredibly, given him a child and made his life mean something. The idea that he had ever held her hand, or tasted her mouth, or made love to her, even now seemed as unlikely as being bitten by a radioactive spider.

If hell was anything, it was talk radio—and family. In

the Brat—Victoria to her second-grade teacher, Vicki to her mother, but the Brat to her father and in her heart—was

There's something horribly unfair about dying in the middle of a good story, before you have a chance to see how it all comes out. Of course, I suppose everyone always dies in the middle of a good story, in a sense. Your own story. Or the story of your children. Or your grandchildren.

My father says Alamagüselum lives in the walls and drinks tears.

Aisha was ten and didn't understand half of what Colson said, up there on the stage, dressed in purple velvet like he was Prince. She couldn't follow the words, but she didn't have any problem making sense of the way Juliet looked at him. Aisha didn't have any problem figuring out why Juliet's cousin hated Romeo either. Tybalt didn't want some smooth-talking black kid crowding in on any white girl, let alone someone in his family.

everyone always dies in the middle of a good story, in a sense. Your own story. Or the story of your children. Or your grandchildren. Death is a raw deal for narrative junkies." Around

You don't want to start A Game of Thrones when you might catch fire all of a sudden. There's something horribly unfair about dying in the middle of a good story, before you have a chance to see how it all comes out. Of course, I suppose everyone always dies in the middle of a good story, in a sense. Your own story. Or the story of your children. Or your grandchildren. Death is a raw deal for narrative junkies.

It was a childhood of mud, barking dogs, barbed wire, dilapidated farm buildings, squealing pigs with their flaking skin and squashed-in faces, and little human contact, beyond a mother who sat most of the day at the kitchen table wearing the slack, staring aspect of someone who had been lobotomized, and his father, who ruled their acres of pig shit and ruin with his angry laughter and his fists.

You are one person with your mother, and another with your lover, and yet another with your child. Those other people create you-finish you-as much as you create you. When you're gone, the ones you've left behind get to keep the same part of you they always had

This is the thing about my sister and I: we've never gotten along, even when we've gotten along. This is what happens when you have parents who fetishize family, and the viscosity of blood relative to water: you resent the force with which they push you together with this person who is, genetics aside, a stranger. And that's what my sister is: a stranger.

Vic stared at her, incredulous. "What do you mean you don't know why?" Vic asked her. "He isn't coming home because of you, Mom. Because he can't stand you. Because all you ever do is bitch at him, stand there and bitch when he's tired and wants to be left alone.

Susannah had a toy stethoscope, which she would press to his head, in an attempt to listen in on his thoughts.

The only thing worth stealing is a kiss from a sleeping child.