Quotes About Family

Years after her death, I started thinking mean things about myself, and that holding on to her shirt was pure neurotic clinging. That it was ridiculous. Part of me understood that my hold on it had to do with the excruciating mess and weirdness of my family: how only a handful of people in your lifetime help redeem this mess, so that when one of them dies, hope dies. You never fully recover. You can't.

Honey,...you'll never draw another calm breath as long as you live. That blissful amniotic unconcerned state of people without children is a thing of the past.

Nicky dropped the children off that night, he poked his head in long enough to say that everything had gone fine. The children ran into her arms. Harry smelled as sweet and pungent as sawdust, Ella as deliciously odd as puppy breath. The touch of their skin, the smells, made her whole again, like an animal lost in the wilds that finds its mother.

There is the absolute hopelessness we face that everyone we love will die, even our newborn granddaughter, even as we trust and know that love will give rise to growth, miracles, and resurrection.

So you—I—stuck to the family plan for a long time, because your success made everyone else so happy, even if you made yourself frantic and half dead trying to achieve it. You couldn't win at this game, and you couldn't stop trying. At least it was a home to return to, no matter how erratic, which is better than no home.

None of my family is good at being patient. It's why we all become doctors.

It isn't often one gets the chance to entertain one's great-great-great-grandmother. Sassinak.

Not long after our final lesson, on one of our Sundays at the lake, my father and I were walking along the shore when he noticed a small rock shaped like a bird. When he picked it up, I saw the quick gleam of satisfaction in his face and felt in an instant that I had less power to please him than a stone.

My love for my family has grown for years in decay-fed soil, unwashed root pulled suddenly from the ground. Bulbous as a beet, a huge eye under a lid of earth. Scoop out the eye, blind the earth.

There was no energy of a narrative in my family, not even the fervour of an elegy.

I am most anxious to give my own children enough love and understanding so that they won't grow up with an aching void in them--like you and I and Harold and Martha. That can never be filled, and one goes around all one's life trying, trying to make up for what one didn't get that was one's birthright, asking the wrong people for it.

By and large, mothers and housewives are the only workers who do not have regular time off. They are the great vacationless class.

remind me that woman must be still as the axis of a wheel in the midst of her activities; that she must be the pioneer in achieving this stillness, not only for her own salvation, but for the salvation of family life, of society, perhaps even of our civilization.

In our family, an experience was not finished, not truly experienced, unless written down...

Is your adult child out of the nest--and all you dreamed he would be? Affirm him over and over; enjoy him as your dear friend. Don't tell him what to do! Don't tell his spouse what to do! Those days are over.

My family, my country—right or wrong.' It is the ultimate betrayal of God.

La rivalidad entre hermanos es una serpiente que nunca se puede acabar de matar.

At about twenty she had mentioned it quite seriously at the dinner table. It was the only occasion she could recall of every member of her family laughing at once.

When it came down to reality, what mattered except the lives of those you loved? All that was precious was made up of passions and of love, of belief in a purpose beyond the habits of living from day to day. The

I have already told you, Mr. Monk, I have no idea where my brother is. Not that I would necessarily tell you if I did. Your wife is an excellent nurse. She has rare experience in certain areas that are useful to us, and if she chose to go with him, and has not informed you, then that is her own concern.

She was a remarkable woman and her courage must be immense to have defied her family and traveled virtually alone

Charlotte believed that the truth lay between, that having satisfied the requirements of family in particular and society at large by marrying once, she now had no desire to commit herself again unless it were for genuine affection—which apparently had not yet occurred.

Love does forgive, but can it forgive everything? Should it? Which loyalties came first—family, or belief in right and wrong?

Would it always be like this? Endless days of needlework, painting, house chores and skills, teas, Papa and Dominic coming home? What did other people do? They married and raised children, ran houses. Of course the poor worked, and society went to parties, rode in the park or in coaches, and presumably had families as well?