Quotes About Family

Im the kind of guy, when the marriage is breaking up, who doesnt want to yell in front of the kids. So I left, but it was very hard.

There are a lot of latchkey kids. I don't want to be sitting there when a guy blurts something out over the TV and have my daughters ask me what those words mean.

Being pregnant and having a toddler, as every parent says, is amazing. You're very tired, but it's so wonderful. God, it's emotional, but it's the best. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Many years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been wealthy; but a series of misfortunes had reduced him to want.

I never really wanted kids. I didn't not want them, but motherhood just wasn't something that pulled at me.

I can't wait to be a mum for a bit. I'm always a mum, of course, but I want to be domesticated and be in my house and do the school runs and all that.

I have three living children for whom this is a father who I want them to love and on whom they're going to have to rely if my disease takes a bad turn.

It is, I suppose, the business of grandparents to create memories and the relative of memories: traditions. We want to lodge moments, like snapshots, in the fleeting video of time.

The kids are old enough now - I just want to let them be kids. I don't want to comment on them too much. They're at an age where I just want to let them be kids.

The last thing in the world my parents would want to do is get on a stage or do a movie. They would probably rather die. But they let me be who I was, and they supported me.

I always wanted an older brother. That was my thing. My mom would be like, "What do you want for your birthday?" I'd be like, "I want an older brother."

Phone are wonderful instruments, but I wouldn't want our daughter to marry one.

I have kids and I want to have a long life and there are certain things that are conducive to that and certain things that aren't. I've opted for the road of happiness and long life.

I come from a family and a heritage where you don't really go to therapy unless you're crazy. I want people to know that that's so not the case. It's enriching, and I've learned this new tool.

I still don't know how to drive. I don't go anywhere, really. My brother drives me. I walk around my neighborhood but I don't go anywhere, nor do I want to.

For men who want to flee Family Man America and never come back, there is a guaranteed solution: homosexuality is the new French Foreign Legion.

My image is very important to me. I want to bring a good face to my family. That's the way I've been raised.

To grieve is the gift of the living – a gift so many of our kin have long lost.

My arms wrapped about little Jala, little sister, hot with fever but the fire grew too hot, and so, in my arms, her flesh cooled to dawn-stone, mother keening—Jala was the ember now lifeless, and from that day, in mother's eyes, I became naught but its bed of ash.

I, Borduke of the 6th squad in the 9th Company of the 8th Legion, swear on the downy belly of the Queen of Dreams that the creature before me is a natural, unaltered Birdshit scorpion, and may my father's ghost remain in its tomb, since the inheritance was mine to lose anyway, right? Dead means you don't care any more, right? It had better, because if it doesn't, then I'm doomed to paternal haunting for the rest of my days.

The son, after all, is but an extension of the mother – at least so the mother believed, there in some inarticulate part of her soul, unseen yet solid as an iron chain. Assail the child and so too the mother is assailed, for what is challenged is her life as a mother, the lessons she taught or didn't teach, the things she chose not to see, to explain away, to pretend were otherwise than what they were.

But blood is the chain that can never break. (...) And, though we leave the house of our birth, it never leaves us.

everything – now sank beneath a familiar cloud, settling grey and thick, where every shape was but hinted at, where he was lost. As lost as he had been, as lost as any and every mortal soul, no matter how blustery its claims to certainty, to faith. And yet…and yet it was a warm cloud, shot through with precious things: his love for his wife, his children; his wonder at their lives, the changes that came to them day by day. He found he was weeping, even as he climbed to his feet.

Patience, the full weight of regard, the willingness to listen and the readiness to teach – were these not the responsibilities of parenthood?