Quotes About Family

Big Ammachi was shocked to see how thin she had become, her hair suddenly white at the temples; it was such a troubling sight in one so young.

Offspring were a joy or a shame, but still the crown of their elders, nature's unpredictable creatures.

I saw a mom take her raincoat off and give it to her young daughter when a storm took over the afternoon. My god, I thought, my whole life I've been under her raincoat thinking it was somehow a marvel that I never got wet.

My mother's psychic says, everyone essentially wants the same thing as everyone else, a sense of belonging, a coming home.

I have always been too sensitive, a weeper from a long line of weepers. I am the hurting kind. I keep searching for proof.

Linda wrote to her son from her hotel room opposite the Cambridge Common just hours after they parted, the first volley in an extraordinary correspondence that continued until the week of her death, nearly four decades later. During his freshman year, she wrote virtually every day—in other words, she appeared in his mailbox in the morning, a palpable, reassuring presence thanks to her remarkable skill as a letter writer.

She can look at you and make you feel like you're the only one in the world. Even if it's not true, she can make you feel that way. And with her child, it would be true. She would look at her child for as long as her child needed.

When you have kids, you instantly feel that you do not want to do them wrong. Those dads that go off to Florida and start a new life, I couldn't imagine that: seeing my kid once every Christmas, every three years. If I'm gone for six days it feels like too much.

If you want to have a good life, you should focus on your family, on your business, on your dog, on your fun, and you'll have a good life.

I don't have anything against my mom, but my family has no emotional connection to each other.

Born to Rebel: Birth Order, Family Dynamics, and Creative Lives

Note that this does not mean women and daughters were unloved.

you have a Father who knit you together in your mother's womb, who loves you more than you can possibly imagine, who walks with you, cares for you,

Perhaps nowhere is the selfless, sacrificial love of God more clearly displayed than when someone takes on the task of raising and loving a child who is not biologically theirs. They didn't have to take the job, they had a choice, but they chose to set aside their fears and accept the calling to be a stepparent, foster parent, or adoptive parent.

even Michael, who never stopped trying to want what we wanted for him. How could he? We're not individuals. We're haunted by the living as well as the dead.

It's easy to make too much of fathers, I want to say. A

It's not until she sits up and wipes her eyes that I realize she's crying. My words are like knives; they cut into the people I love. It will be worse if you touch her, I think, a worse lie. But I ignore this thought, shifting down the bench to put my arm around her - my daughter - and as I do, she weeps openly, pressing her face against my damp shirt.

What he had said to me a moment ago was true. I hadn't been listening to him, not for years. I'd wanted him to be better for so long that I had stopped hearing him tell me he was sick. For the first time I saw him now as a man, not a member of a family. A separate person, who had been trying as hard as he could for most of his life simply to get by.

All in all, we were about as close as siblings could be. Which meant we monitored each other's responsibility for the family, watchful for any sign of defection, as though we were on a desert island together, each surreptitiously building an escape raft that the other occasionally burned.

Imagine me gone, imagine it's just the two of you. What do you do?

His family seemed, more than anything, incurious about one another. As if they'd known one another well in the past bu had moved on now and resented, without saying as much, the need to keep up.

Her parents were religious people who never renounced their obligation to love their daughter or their obligation to be ashamed.

I knew Michael had to be right about the argument that would come later because Mom didn't say anything about us being gone or even ask where we'd been. In the kitchen, Dad had the extra cheerfulness he got with us when Mom was angry at him. He let us each drop a lobster in the boiling water. He had to hold Alec so he'd be high enough not to get his hand splashed. Their black antennae whipped back and forth against the sides of the pot before disappearing.

There is a talk that every father has with his son in which he brings the child to understand that there are ways we must act, things we must say, but inside, we are still us, we are family.