Quotes About Family

Constance sighed, and tapped her fingers irritably and almost noiselessly on the stair rail. I wish she'd hurry, she said into my ear, my soup is going to boil over.

Seit dem Tod ihrer Mutter war ihre Schwester der einzige Mensch auf der Welt, den sie aufrichtig hasste.

My name is Mary Katherine Blackwood.

I like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amanita phalloides, the deathcup mushroom. Everyone else in my family is dead.

He hated the blue platter his mother served from, and the salt and pepper shakers, which were glass with red tops, and he hated the silverware designed in flowers, some pieces scratched almost beyond recognition. He even hated the round table and the succession of tablecloths, one pale blue with yellow leaves, one white with red and orange squares. He hated the uncomfortable chairs, particularly his own, where he sat squirming, and he hated his family and the way they talked.

Would you think I ought to give up my painting just for a home and a couple of lousy children with running noses?

Todas las mujeres de la familia Blackwood habían recogido la comida que daba la tierra y la habían conservado, y los tarros de intensos colores con embutidos y verduras y mermeladas granate, ámbar y verde oscuro estaban uno al lado de los otros y allí se quedarían para siempre, como un poema compuesto por las mujeres de la familia Blackwood.

Blackwoods had always lived in our house, and kept their things in order; as soon as a new Blackwood wife moved in, a place was found for her belongings, and so our house was built up with layers of Blackwood property weighting it, and keeping it steady against the world.

Jonas, I told him, you are not to listen any more to Cousin Charles, and Jonas regarded me in wide-eyed astonishment, that I should attempt to make decisions for him.

It was an unpleasant business, like all family quarrels, and as in all family quarrels incredibly harsh and cruel things were said on either side.

Mrs. Spencer distrusted letters on principle, because they always seemed to want to entangle her in so many small, disagreeable obligations--visits, or news of old friends she had conveniently forgotten, or family responsibilities that always had to be met quickly and without enjoyment.

The twins were loitering over their cereal, and Mrs. Walpole, with one eye on the clock and the other on the kitchen window past which the school bus would come in a matter of minutes, felt the unreasonable irritation that comes with being late on a school morning, the wading-through-molasses feeling of trying to hurry children.

None of these things bothered us excessively; we have always been a family that carries bewilderment like a banner, and odd new confusions do not actually seem to be any more bewildering than the ones we invent for ourselves; moreover, in each of these cases it was easier to believe that nothing had happened, or that it was of no importance anyway.

When Jannie came home from school that afternoon she said that her teacher had put it into the class news that Jannie's mommy and daddy were going to get a new house and Jannie would walk to school instead of taking the bus.

We have got to get a bigger house," I said. "Don't be silly," my husband said, reading. "There is no bigger house." "A new house?" said Jannie. "Can I have a room of my own?" When I went down to the grocery the next morning the grocer said he heard we were thinking of moving.

All the millions of things we possessed as a family were inside the house, but, inexorably, there came one shocking moment when we discovered that the house was full.

Ask your mommy can we have two chairs out here, Billy said. Then we can pretend the whole garden is our house.

My name is Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am eighteen years old, and I live with my sister Constance. I have often thought that with any luck at all I could have been born a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both my hands are the same length, but I have had to be content with what I had. I dislike washing myself, and dogs, and noise. I like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amanita phalloides , the death-cap mushroom. Everyone else in my family is dead.

You think you have a handle on God, the Universe, and the Great White Light until you go home for Thanksgiving. In an hour, you realize how far you've got to go and who is the real turkey.

Shh, let me finish," Mama said, and banged her elbow into my ribs. "Remember, now. Neither small nor tight. A roomy waist and a pleat. For God's sake, a pleat.

Tell me yourself—rather than suffering because of daughters, as Tevye has, is it not a thousand times better to lie in the ground and bake bagels?

Basye, the tailor's wife, butted in. She was a tiny woman, who performed three jobs at once. She rocked the baby with her foot, darned a sock with her hands, and fussed and fumed with her mouth.

By the time I got home, the hat had flopped over my ears. It was a bit too big, I felt. "It's no tragedy. So long as it isn't too tight," said Mama, pulling the hat over my nose. "Just don't keep taking it off and putting it on. Don't touch it. Wear it well.

A home's no good without a master and without a father.