Best 4246 quotes in «family quotes» category

Appeal with respect to elderly people as you would to the members of your own family.

Appreciate all the wonderful things in life

A praying mother symbolizes grace, strength and wisdom; she is an icon of productivity and ingenuity.

A question that always makes me hazy is it me or are the others crazy' Albert Einstein

A prisoner should know that there are thousands of imprisoned freemen living in this world…jailed in their own society, handcuffed by duties..

A real relationship of a man and wife is a ground on the roots of virtue and honour.

Are you and Mom done?” “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I love her, but we may not be right for each other. She doesn’t trust me, which seems to be a family trait. Regardless, I’m still your dad. I will always be here for you. Always. You don’t have to run away to the Navy because you’re worried I won’t help you.” Troy stared at Jerry disbelievingly. “That’s not why I’m doing it.” “Isn’t it?” “Okay, partly. But also, you were in the Navy. So was your dad. And his dad. I want to follow in your footsteps. I always have.” “Like father, like son.

Are you imperfect, romantically irrational, ridiculously fearless, and utterly illogical? You're my ideal reader, friend, partner. I'm your fan.

Are you using your time to time God or you are working on God's timing? Don't ask God for the gift of Patience and you tell him you need it now. (A bit deep)

Arleen’s children did not always have a home. They did not always have food. Arleen was not always able to offer them stability; stability cost too much. She was not always able to protect them from dangerous streets; those streets were her streets. Arleen sacrificed for her boys, fed them as best she could, clothed them with what she had. But when they wanted more than she could give, she had ways, some subtle, others not, of telling them they didn’t deserve it.

Arthur had begun to understand with devastating clarity that the most valuable thing a human can do is commit to another human, or humans---in this case, his family.

Artifact As long as I can remember you kept the rifle-- your grandfather's an antique you called it- in your study, propped against the tall shelves that held your many books. Upright, beside those hard-worn spins, it was another backbone of your pas, a remnant I studied as if it might unlock-- like the skeleton key its long body resembled-- some door i had yet to find. Peering into the dark muzzle, I imagined a bullet as you described: spiraling through the bore and spinning straight for its target. It did not hit me then: the rifle I'd inherited showing me how one life is bound to another, that hardship endures. For years I admired its slender profile, until-- late one night, somber with drink--you told me it still worked, that you kept it loaded just in case, and I saw the rifle for what it is; a relic sharp as sorrow, the barrel hollow as regret.

As a family, we love, we share, we play, we laugh, we fight, we are frank about the truth and we live.

As a genealogist, I have seen the Big Picture as very few have. Most people now living have no clue who they are or where they come from. We are all descended from the ancient kings of our various cultures. There is nothing unique about it. And let's be honest, most of those kings were pretty ruthless individuals. What's important for us today is that we wake up to the fact that we are all literally cousins. How would our world change if we honored that relationship and started treating one another as family?

As anybody with two older sisters can tell you, a closed door is like a red rag to a bull. It cannot go unchallenged.

As far as he knew, no one in his family had turned out normal yet and he didn’t see why he should be the first.

As ever in the family Goodman, someone would have to swallow feelings here, and it was easier that it be Mercer.

As he moves through his day, sometimes he stops and just stares at me. There is something on the tip of his tongue. But he doesn't say it. I'm not sure he knows what it is.

A shared life is a sacred love.

As goes the family, so goes the faith; as goes the faith, so goes the culture.

As he lifted his head, he saw a painting on the wall, in a carved and gilded frame. It was a luminous portrait of the Duchess with her children when they were still young. The group was arranged on the settee, with Ivo, still an infant, on his mother's lap. Gabriel, Raphael, and Seraphina were seated on either side of her, while Phoebe leaned over the back of the settee. Her face was close to her mother's, her expression tender and slightly mischievous, as if she were about to tell her a secret or make her laugh.

As if each of us might somehow have a blueprint. As if somewhere there's the shape of my life, and I had the chance to choose a few variations, but not far from the pattern.

As if tears were the necessary lubricant without which the machine of mutual communication could not work successfully, the two sisters, after these tears, started talking, not about what preoccupied them , but about unrelated things, and yet they understood eachother.

As I indicated in an earlier chapter, it is so important to pause and think through some of these basic issues while you are young, before the pressures of job and family become distracting. Everyone must deal with the eternal questions sooner or later. You will benefit, I think, from doing that work now. As I said earlier, whether you are an atheist, a Muslim, a Buddhist, a Jew, a New Ager, an agnostic, or a Christian, the questions confronting the human family are the same. Only the answers will differ.

Ashlynn washed her face, put on an apron, and then opened wide the door to her shoe closet. This princess wouldn't care if she wore a burlap sack every day, so long as she had dozens of footwear choices. Today she settled on a pair of scrappy teal wedges and went to start breakfast. Even though her father's grand house came fully stocked with servants, her mother believed in good, solid, character-forming chores. After all, Ashlynn would inherit her mother's story and become the next Cinderella someday, and there would be lots of floors to mop and hearths to sweep her Happily Ever After.

A short poem from my new book, The Lost Journal of my Second Trip to Pergatory, Thorny Crowns Of course the gold one was for special occasions, weddings, etc, silver for family reunions, office-casual type affairs. Bronze was a everyday choice; during yard work its burnished surface shone in sunlight. There were various colors and holiday appropriate ones. I could never find the hatboxes they were stored in. But the wooden one was reserved for the long suffering caused by family. Stevie’s funeral, my hospital trips and sister’s rebellion rated real wood. One tip filed extra sharp produced a fine and dramatic line of blood droplets on her brow.

As I child, I came to this idea with a horrified fascination. Once upon a time, I wasn’t here. Before that, my parents weren’t here. And before that…

A silence overtook the odd family in their odd surroundings as loss became the mockery of the moment, and they were caught up in the emotional release that is common in a theater audience after the sudden ending of a tragic movie; the curtain closes and the people are still in their seats, numb and sighing their way back into reality.

As it was, she gave him the single most important gift a parent can give—“a sense of unconditional love that was big enough that, with all the surface disturbances of our lives, it sustained me, entirely.” People wonder about his calm and even-keeled manner, the [P]resident observed. He credited the temperament he was born with and the fact that “from a very early age, I always felt I was loved and that my mother thought I was special.

Ask very little but ask of everyone.

As long as we have MEMORIES, yesterday REMAINS and as long as we have HOPE, tomorrow AWAITS...

A small world where people know each other, and still so deep, able to get lost.

a small nation resembles a big family and likes to describe itself that way. In the language of the smallest European people, in Icelandic, the term for "family" is fjölskylda; the etymology is eloquent: skylda means "obligation"; fjöl means "multiple." Family is thus "a multiple obligation." Icelanders have a single word for "family ties": fjölskyldubönd: "the cords (bönd) of multiple obligations." Thus in the big family that is a small country, the artist is bound in multiple ways, by multiple cords. When Nietzsche noisily savaged the German character, when Stendhal announced that he preferred Italy to his homeland, no German or Frenchman took offense; if a Greek or a Czech dared to say the same thing, his family would curse him as a detestable traitor.

As my father always said, ‘sexism is a modern concept’.

As my heart begins to return to normal, I look down at -- and feel such an intense rush of love and relief it takes my breath away. "I will never let you put of my sight again," I promise --

As one grows old I think one becomes more attached to family things- to houses and graves.

As parents, we have the responsibility and the power to create a foundational love for nutritious foods that will influence our children's choices for decades to come, setting the stage for our children, grandchildren, and future generations to flourish in wellness and health.

As soon as [Patricia Highsmith] had stopped work, she felt purposeless and quite at a loss about what to do with herself. 'There is no real life except in working,' she wrote in her notebook, 'that is to say in the imagination.' It was in this state that she observed that only one situation would drive her to commit murder - being part of a family unit. Most likely, she thought, she would strike out in anger at a small child, felling them in one blow. But children over the age of eight, she surmised, would probably take two blows to kill. The reality of socialising with anyone, no matter how close, she said, left her feeling fatigued.

As she worked, she remembered something her parents had said to her when Klaus was born, and against when they brought Sunny home from the hospital. 'you are the eldest Baudelaire child,' they had said, kindly but firmly. 'And as the eldest, it will always be your responsibility to look after your younger siblings. Promise us that you will always watch out for them and make sure they don't get into trouble.

A successful marriage was a balancing act-that was a thing everyone knew. A successful marriage was also dependent on a high tolerance for irritation.

As we get older, it matters less where you are and more who you're with.

As we all came to discover the limitations of assimilation, we grew closer as a family

A sweet kiss on her head made her little heart swell; she had pancakes, her dog. She had love. All was well.

As we age, we become our parents; live long enough and we see faces repeat in time.

As we embrace the mystery of love, we see that it contains not an absence of error, but the presence of grace. It contains not the absence of anger or pain, but the presence of forgiveness and healing. Not the absence of disharmony or confusion, but the presence of peace and clarity. To make a home into a sanctuary, we must be willing to make room in our hearts for one another's limitations, as well as our gifts. For it is here in this sacred space of the home and family, so brimming with life, so full of every emotion available to our hearts, that we learn what it means to love within all the nuances of an intimate relationship.

As they ran to the barn and began the careful climb up the steep ladder, Lily realized she had accidentally put on snow boots in her hurry. When they reached the top, the quiet hush of the still hayloft gave them that whisper-in-the-library feeling.

A successful relationship depends on us recognising our own painful feelings and emotions inside—not fighting them, but accepting, embracing, and transforming them to get relief.

As well as we know our grown children and relatives, we don't know how much energy they have to put into simply keeping their lives together at all.

A sweet friend of my Hannah's said that Christmas only makes her sad. "It's just for happy families it makes everyone else miserable." But there is a secret truth about family. Eventually you get to pick a family for yourself m. And thanks to the sticky, sweet, funny, loud, rambunctious people I chose, Christmas is my favorite time of the year.

As we gather around the rough-hewn farm table made by my grandfather, I am reminded that my family has come together for generations in this same way. Summers were always our favorite times; we would eat outdoors under the shade of a tree - hand-rolled pasta with a sauce of fresh tomatoes and basil from the garden, cheese from my Aunt Carmella, olive oil sent by our cousin in Santa Margherita, and wine from our own jugs. After having our fill of food and laughter, we'd pluck ripe figs right off the trees, peel and eat them until the sun disappeared into the blue. I can still taste those summer days, and will always do everything in my power to re-create them.