Quotes About Family

There are many thrilling things about being a grandmother—who knew it would be so satisfying at my age to put my right foot in, to take my right foot out, to put my right foot in, and to shake it all about?

Becoming a parent changed and enlarged my son; it's no stretch at all to say that parenthood made us both better people. I've watched him be a father to my grandson, and I've been thrilled by his ability to put his own concerns and needs aside to minister to those of this little boy, to put himself in the place time after time where he is attuned to who his son is and what he needs, whether indulgence or discipline.

when people wonder how I survived being accused of killing my mother, none of them realizes that watching her die was many, many times worse. And knowing I could have killed her was nothing compared to knowing I could not save her. And know I'd almost missed knowing her was far more frightening than Ed Best and his little army of shrunken suits.

To my dear and honored Mother, whose life, no less than her pen, has been devoted to the welfare of others, this little book is affectionately dedicated.

had to say over and over to myself, 'Give up the drink or lose your soul! Give up the drink or break Polly's heart!' But thanks be to God, and my dear wife, my chains were broken, and now for ten years I have not tasted a drop, and never wish for it.

Blood may be thicker than water, but friendship is thicker than both.

If you would have a boy to despise his mother, let her keep him at home, and spend her life in petting him up, and slaving to indulge his follies and caprices.

But supposing I could be so generous as to take delight in this, stil it is only a child; and I can't centre all my hopes in a child: that is only one degree better than devoting oneself to a dog

this was 'Uncle Robson,' Mrs. Bloomfield's brother; a tall, self-sufficient fellow, with dark hair and sallow complexion like his sister, a nose that seemed to disdain the earth, and little grey eyes, frequently half-closed, with a mixture of real stupidity and affected contempt of all surrounding objects.

affair struck me as so very absurd; but now I determined to be wiser, and begin at once with as much form and ceremony as any member of the family would be likely to require: and, indeed, the children being so much older, there would be less difficulty; though the little

a real live count ought to be a passport for them [the Gould family] into the innermost of the inner circles, which privilege they so much crave,' said the New York World, showing a lively appreciation of the truth that the simplest way for a family to elevate itself into the top level of New York society was through the strategic marriage of a daughter.

His family, like hers, was horrified, her brother-in-law John 'Jack' Leslie writing to his wife, Jennie's younger sister Leonie: 'I hope G. West has survived the honeymoon.' (Jennie had once been described as 'more panther than woman'.)

There are so few people given us to love. I want to tell my daughters this, that each time you fall in love it is important, even at nineteen. Especially at nineteen. And if you can, at nineteen, count the people you love on one hand, you will not, at forty, have run out of fingers on the other. There are so few people given us to love and they all stick.

I do not think we remember our family in any real sense. We live in them instead

Because a mother's love is God's greatest joke.

I am sorry. I can not invite you home for Christmas because I am Irish and my family is mad

It was also true that if the Lees were still in Laos, Lia would probably have died before she was out of infancy, from a prolonged bout of untreated status epilepticus. American medicine had both preserved her life and compromised it. I was unsure which had hurt her family more.

Going through a dead parent's memorabilia is a hazardous undertaking; there is a fine line between pleasure and pain.

her father had built from ax-hewn planks thatched with bamboo and grass. The floor was dirt, but it was clean. Her mother, Foua, sprinkled it regularly with

I wonder if anyone can ever succeed in making their children content.

I have always been the dunce, the never-do-well of the family, I've always have to pay double for my deeds, first with the scolding and then again because of the way my feelings are hurt.

I argued that talking is a female trait and that I would do my best to keep it under control, but that I would never be able to break myself of the habit, since my mother talked as much as I did, if not more, and that there's not much you can do about inherited traits.

I was suffocating even before we left the house, but no one bothered to ask me how I felt.

I've always been the clown and mischief maker of the family; I've always had to pay double for my sins: once with scoldings and then again with my own sense of despair. I'm no longer satisfied with the meaningless affection or the supposedly serious talks.