Quotes About Family

Maybe it's being close to the end, but I have this desire to pull Greg aside—to pull all my children aside, and my grandchildren—and to whisper something profound, to pass on the great wisdom I've acquired. Something that would open their hearts and create in them an unassailable courage, a generosity of spirit, faith in humanity. But the only thing I can think of is Time and patience.

but the very idea scandalized her. "What kind of wife would I be if I left your father simply because he is dead?

Parenthood makes such sweet hypocrites of us all.

She sees now that the problem of the girl will never be solved, not as long as people have the capacity to reproduce themselves. Family is the problem that recurs.

Happy kids grow up to make happy adults who make happy kids and so on.

Most of our default settings are inherited from our own parents. They are ingrained and programmed into us like a motherboard on a computer. They are the factory settings we return to when we are at our wit's end and not thinking and they have been installed into us from our upbringing.

Is there a greater gift you can give to your children and your children's children than to grow up to be happier, more secure and resilient adults? We don't think so.

Wanted to give you a heads up: I heard that Flat Finn sustained an injury the other day. Nothing major, though. Something to do with Matt, a steaming iron, and maniacal shouts of, "There are no wrinkles allowed in this house! You may be flat, but you're not smooth enough yet for this family!"

I want my mother right now. I want her so desperately that I physically ache to have her hold me, and it's absolutely bullshit that I have no one.

I am hit with the enormity of the impact that this family is having in my life. They, and mostly Chris, are saving me. Or teaching me to save myself.

I wasn't someone who needed an infant. It wasn't important to me to make bottles or see first steps or hear first words. Kindergarten, grade school....I didn't need to do any of that. I wanted to be a father, but being a father is about a lifetime of parenting, not just little-kid stuff.

Mom, I have to go. I think this Matt character is here. Are you sure it's him? Julie peered into the car as the window lowered. "I see a maniacal-looking guy with brightly-colored candy in one hand, and he's waving a sickle with the other. Oh! He's beckoning me to the car. This must be my ride.

It's smart to end relationships that are poisonous. It's a good thing. Sometimes you have to cut people out of your life to make things better. So you can move forward. Being here, with my brothers and sister

È questo il problema! Non ci arrivi? Lui ha già fatto tutto!» È sempre più agitato. «Cazzo, Christopher Shepherd ha protetto tutti noi e a me non ha lasciato niente da fare! Si è sottoposto alle torture peggiori che ci infliggeva mio padre e non mi ha mai permesso di ripagarlo.»

Instead she squeezes Mary's arm and appreciates her kindness. Her understanding. This is why people have children, even when they believe the world is going to hell, even when life is nothing but uncertainty. In hopes of being understood.

You are not responsible for your parents' mistakes. The words emerged from her mouth without forethought, inspired by the young man's miserable face. But were they true? Hadn't she taught her own children to accept their father's heroism as part of their inheritance? So wouldn't this also be true in the reverse?

There is not enough air in the room for Marianne and Elizabeth to share. They have learned this the hard way, but acceptance of the fact has made life easier. Now they see each other twice a year, for a weekend in the early summer and for the American holiday of Thanksgiving

There are so many firsts to raising kids, and parents are told to catch them all. But they don't warn you about the lasts. The last baby onesie. The last time you tie their shoes. The last time they think you have every answer in the world.

On a sticky August evening two weeks before her due date, Ashima Ganguli stands in the kitchen of a Central Square apartment, combining Rice Krispies and Planters peanuts and chopped red onion in bowl.

Gogol remembers having to do the same thing when he was younger, when his grandparents died...He remembers, back then, being bored by it, annoyed at having to observe a ritual no one else he knew followed, in honor of people he had seen only a few times in his life...Now, sitting together at the kitchen table at six-thirty every evening, his father's chair empty, this meatless meal is the only thing that seems to make sense.

She has given birth to vagabonds. She is the keeper of all these names and numbers now, numbers she once knew by heart, numbers and addresses her children no longer remember.

She had listened to him, partly sympathetic, partly horrified. For it was one thing for her to reject her background, to be critical of her family's heritage, another to hear it from him.

Most of all I remember the three of them operating during that time as if they were a single person, sharing a single meal, a single body, a single silence, and a single fear.

What did I do? I read books and studied. I listened to my parents and did what they asked me to. Even though, in the end, I never made them happy. I didn't like myself, and something told me I'd end up alone.