Quotes About Family

Sabes muy bien que por ser la más chica de las mujeres a ti te corresponde cuidarme hasta el día de mi muerte. Dicho

Look ma'am, those narcos that mutilate, torture, and kill others are no longer a part of us. They're no longer part of any family or community; they act against everyone. They are worth nothing. But when you bury a narco, you allow him to be a part of you again. He becomes dust, food, our brother once more. His body—dissolved in the earth—now sustains life again, instead of destroying it.

Renegó como nunca de sus maestros y de su mamá por no haberle dicho en ninguna ocasión lo que se tenía que hacer en un parto. De qué le servía en ese momento saber los nombres de los planetas y el manual de Carreño de pe a pa si su hermana estaba a punto de morir y ella no podía ayudarla.

Tita, por su parte, se encargó de enseñarle algo igual de valioso: los secretos de la vida y del amor a través de la cocina.

Laura Esquivel

Life would be much nicer if one could carry the smells and tastes of the maternal home wherever one pleased.

No le fue fácil meter en la maleta el día en que hicieron su primera comunión las tres juntas. La vela, el libro y la foto afuera de la iglesia cupieron muy bien, pero no así el sabor de los tamales y del atole que Nacha les había preparado y que habían comido después en compañía de sus amigos y familiares.

En la familia De la Garza se podían perdonar algunas cosas, pero nunca la desobediencia ni el cuestionamiento de las actitudes de los padres.

It occurred to her that she could use her mother's strength right now. Mama Elena was merciless, killing with a single blow. But then again not always. For Tita she had made an exception; she had been killing her a little at a time since she was a child, and she still hadn't quite finished her off.

Escapaba a su comprensión el que un ser, independiente del parentesco que pudiera tener con otro, así no más, con la mano en la cintura rechazara de una manera tan brutal una atención.

Maybe," Summer said. "But an adult child's pride in her father is a small compensation for feeling loved by him when she's young.

Hear what?" "Ric's at the hospital. Mia's having the baby." "What? He didn't call me!" "He didn't call anyone. The man ran out of here like his hair was on fire.

Ma sighed gently and said, A whole year gone, Charles. But Pa answered, cheerfully: What's a year amount to? We have all the time there is.

A long time ago, when all the grandfathers and grandmothers of today were little boys and little girls or very small babies, or perhaps not even born, Pa and Ma and Mary and Laura and Baby Carrie left their little house in the Big Woods of Wisconsin

Everything from the little house was in the wagon except the beds and tables and chairs. They did not need to take these, because Pa could always make new ones.

All day the storm lasted. The windows were white and the wind never stopped howling and screaming. It was pleasant in the warm house. Laura and Mary did their lessons, then Pa played the fiddle while Ma rocked and knitted, and bean soup simmered on the stove. All night the storm lasted, and all the next day. Fire-light danced out of the stove's draught, and Pa told stories and played the fiddle.

Laura knew then that she was not a little girl any more. Now she was alone; she must take care of herself. When you must do that, then you do it and you are grown up. Laura was not very big, but she was almost thirteen years old, and no one was there to depend on. Pa and Jack had gone, and Ma needed help to take care of Mary and the little girls, and somehow to get them all safely to the west on a train.

Then the fire was shining on the hearth, the cold and the dark and the wild beasts were all shut out, and Jack the brindle bulldog and Black Susan the cat lay blinking at the flames in the fireplace. Ma sat in her rocking chair, sewing by the light

Nothing anywhere could be better than being at home with the home folks, she was sure.

Mothers always fuss about the way you eat. You can hardly eat any way that pleases them.

Mary and Laura clung tight to their rag dolls and did not say anything. The cousins stood around and looked at them. Grandma and all the aunts hugged and kissed them and hugged and kissed them again, saying good-by.

She was glad that the cosy house, and Pa and Ma and the firelight and the music, were now. They could not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now. It can never be a long time ago.

For dinner they ate the stewed pumpkin with their bread. They made it into pretty shapes on their plates. It was a beautiful color, and smoothed and molded so prettily with their knives. Ma never allowed them to play with their food at table; they must always eat nicely everything that was set before them, leaving nothing on their plates. But she did let them make the rich, brown, stewed pumpkin into pretty shapes before they ate it.

So they all went away from the little log house. The shutters were over the windows, so the little house could not see them go. It stayed there inside the log fence, behind the two big oak trees that in the summertime had made green roofs for Mary and Laura to play under. And that was the last of the little house