Quotes About Family

Ah, Elsa. You got a wrong picture of yourself." "Even if that is true, what does a person do about it? The things your parents say and the things your husband doesn't say become a mirror, don't they? You see yourself as they see you, and no mater how far you come, you bring that mirror with you." "Break it", Jean said. "How?" "With a gosh dang rock." Jean leaned forward. "I'm a mirror too, Elsa. You remember that.

He pulled back and slowly got to his feet. We've all been carrying this baggage for too long. Some of us have tried to go on. He looked at her. And some of us have refused to. But all of us are hurting. I'm your father. She's your mother - whatever she's done or hasn't done, or said or hasn't said - she a part of you and you're a part of her. Don't you see that you can't be whole without her?

In wars, there are battles and skirmishes. Losses along the way. But our men will never let the Germans win. We will never give up." She moved closer to her students. "But we have a part to play, too; those of us left behind. We have to be brave and strong, too, and not believe the worst. We have to keep on with our lives so our fathers and brothers and Ã¢â'¬Â¦ husbands have lives to come home to, oui?

It is not so much about who my father was, this advice; it is what life is about. What death does to you. When I look down, of course she is not moving, her skin is cold, and I know she did not really speak to me. But she did. And so I do what I must. I stand up, feeling out my new role. I am a motherless daughter now, a sisterless woman. There is no one left of the family I was born into; there is only the family I have made.

That's why you're so strong and I'm not." "You will have to be," Isabelle said. "For Sophie." Vianne drew in a breath. And there it was. The reason she couldn't eat a bowl of arsenic or throw herself in front of a train.

Remember, cara, hard times don't last. Land and family do." TWELVE In November, the first winter storm battered them from the north, leaving behind a fine layer of snow.

My land tells its story if you listen. The story of our family. We plant, we tend, we harvest. I make wine from grape cuttings I brought here from Sicily, and the wine I make reminds me of my father. It binds us, one to another, as it has for generations. Now it will bind you to us.

I don't know how to believe in her, but I don't know how to let go, either. She's my mother. After all of it, all the times she's held on to me and all the times she's let me go, she's still woven through me, a part of the fabric of my soul, and it means something, that she's here.

It's not forgetting that we need Vianne, it's remembering.

You will always miss her. I know that from experience. There will be days—even years from now—when the missing will be so sharp it takes your breath away. But there will be good days, too; months and years of them. In one way or another, you'll be searching for her all your life. You'll find her, too. As you grow up, you'll understand her more and more. I promise you that.

family stood poised on the edge of a great precipice that could collapse at any second, crumble away like the houses that crashed down Seattle's unstable, waterlogged hillsides.

As mothers and daughters, we are connected with one another. My mother is in the bones of my spine, keeping me straight and true. She is in my blood, making sure it runs rich and strong. She is in the beating of my heart. I cannot now imagine a life without her. I

You will have to be," Isabelle said. "For Sophie." Vianne drew in a breath. And there it was. The reason she couldn't eat a bowl of arsenic or throw herself in front of a train.

I'm going to go in. Meredith will need some help. Don't stay out here too long." "Why not?" her mother said, staring at the copper column. "You'll catch pneumonia." "You think I could die from the cold? I am not a lucky woman.

Liam tried to imagine what it must be like to have a mother like this. What a power it must grant a person in life to have a place where you could always land softly, even after the hardest hit.

kristin hannah

As mothers and daughters, we are connected with one another. My mother is in the bones of my spine, keeping me straight and true. She is in my blood, making sure it runs rich and strong. She is in the beating of my heart.

Now it would never happen; she would never get to know her father, never feel the warmth of his hand in hers, never fall asleep on the divan beside him, never be able to say all that needed to be said between them. Those words were lost, turned into ghosts that would drift away, unsaid. They would never be the family maman had promised. "Papa," she said; it was such a big word suddenly, a dream in its entirety.

She'd heard it from him all her life; just once she wanted to hear him say that Mom should try harder. "I will," she said, completing their little fairy tale as she always did. And she would try. She always did, but she and her mother would never be close. There was just too much water under that bridge.

Like geese," she whispered into the tiny, shell-pink ear, "their babies imprint on the mama in the first sighting and never forget.

When I held my babies and looked into their murky eyes, I found my life's work. My passion. My purpose. It may not be trendy, but I was born to be a mother, and I loved every single second of it.

How could any woman know her own story until she knew her mother's? "They take me prisoner instead," Mom said, still staring out the window.

The father who went off to war was not the one who came home. She had tried to be loved by him; more important, she had tried to keep loving him, but in the end, one was as impossible as the other. In

Loreda knew she couldn't blame her mother for Daddy abandoning them, or not entirely. That was the sad, sorry truth she'd come to after a long and sleepless night. Daddy had left them all.