Best 4246 quotes in «family quotes» category

Nico didn’t like to be touched, but somehow this brief contact with his father felt reassuring – the same way the Chapel of Bones was reassuring. Like death, his father’s presence was cold and often callous, but it was real – brutally honest, inescapably dependable.

Nilijitolea sehemu ya maisha yangu ya kijamii na kifamilia kuweza kuchapisha Kolonia Santita katika kiwango nilichokitaka.

Nobody in the world can make you crazy like your family can.

No body is a looser either he is a Winner or a Learner

Nobody wants to be alone. Sure, we fill our lives with people, faces that come and go, we love a lot only to lose more in the end, and if we’re smart—really smart—we take our victories where we get them. But beneath our skins, we siren.

No family, happy or unhappy, is quite like any other. Tolstoy was chock-fullo’shit. Remember that.

No,” I said. “I can’t remember doing this.” “Oh,” Rena made and gestured dramatically. “You don’t remember it. And that automatically means you didn’t do it?

No, it really isn't, but trust me, getting divorced and having to start over is the least in life that isn't fair. I had to watch the parents of a way too young girl realize that their daughter died for no other reason than people can't figure out how to be nice to each other. It isn't that hard, just be nice and people might not have to suffer needlessly, but that isn't the world we live in, so young girls die. That isn't fair, Mom. People falling out of love is vicious and it sucks, but there are far worse things you could be going through. I know that sounds harsh but it's very true.

No man's advice can change you unless you speak to yourself. Bible school or seminars can't change you, going to church can't change you except you decide to change. Psalm 139:23 - 24

No love in the family means no love in the world.

...No man is foolish when his friend betrays him because a man’s world is most serene when he has people to trust and call friends. After all, is it not often said that a friend is another self?

No man can protect you like your father, No women can love you like your mother.

No matter how busy we may believe we are, we have the wonderful opportunity presently of investing time with loved ones. For those are the great investments we will be glad we made, when time begins to slow and the ability to tend turns tender.

No matter how busy life becomes, I want to be clear For you and your only, I will always be here.

No matter what else people may steal from you, they will never be able to take away your knowledge.

No matter what goals you set to accomplish always remember there is a thing known as Life which you should never forget to live and enjoy

No matter how much struggle you face in your journey towards success, someday you will look back and realize your struggles changed your life for the better.

No matter what your family happens to be like, it affects you, affects who you are. It matters.

No matter what, they always had each other. How did people get through life without sisters?

No more light answers. Let our officers Have note what we purpose. I shall break The cause of our expedience to the Queen And get her leave to part. For not alone The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, Do strongly speak to us, but the letters too Of many our contriving friends in Rome Petition us at home. Sextus Pompeius Hath given the dare to Caesar and commands The empire of the sea. Our slippery people, Whose love is never linked to the deserver Till his deserts are past, begin to throw Pompey the Great and all his dignities Upon his son, who - high in name and power, Higher than both in blood and life - stands up For the main soldier; whose quality, going on, The sides o' th' world may danger. Much is breeding Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life And not a serpent's poison.

Nona was as wacky as they came.

No, nothing in this world is as oppressive and debilitating as blood ties. Any other relationship – be it friend, lover, wife; be it obligatory or constraining or difficult – is something one has consciously entered into at some point. Only one's ties with parents and siblings are formed at birth and are unbreakable.

No more politics, Grandma Donna had said as a permanent new rule, since we wouldn't agree to disagree and all of us had access to cutlery.

None of us lives in isolation. We're in it together. And some conflict along the way is inevitable. But our highest priority, when all is said and done, has to be commitment to each other –- sticking together.

No normal sheet of paper could possibly trace their family tree, which in any case was more like a mangrove thicket.

No one has family in Hawaii. Everyone is family in Hawaii.

No one said parenting was easy,but NO good parent has any right to give up.It is one labyrinth you can never quit because it seems too hard.

No parent should have to bury a child ... No mother should have to bury a son. Mothers are not meant to bury sons. It is not in the natural order of things. I buried my son. In a potter's field. In a field of Blood. In empty, acrid silence. There was no funeral. There were no mourners. His friends all absent. His father dead. His sisters refusing to attend. I discovered his body alone, I dug his grave alone, I placed him in a hole, and covered him with dirt and rock alone. I was not able to finish burying him before sundown, and I'm not sure if that affected his fate ... I begrudge God none of this. I do not curse him or bemoan my lot. And though my heart keeps beating only to keep breaking--I do not question why. I remember the morning my son was born as if it was yesterday. The moment the midwife placed him in my arms, I was infused with a love beyond all measure and understanding. I remember holding my son, and looking over at my own mother and saying, "Now I understand why the sun comes up at day and the stars come out at night. I understand why rain falls gently. Now I understand you, Mother" ... I loved my son every day of his life, and I will love him ferociously long after I've stopped breathing. I am a simple woman. I am not bright or learn-ed. I do not read. I do not write. My opinions are not solicited. My voice is not important ... On the day of my son's birth I was infused with a love beyond all measure and understanding ... The world tells me that God is in Heaven and that my son is in Hell. I tell the world the one true thing I know: If my son is in Hell, then there is no Heaven--because if my son sits in Hell, there is no God.

No satan can unsettle what God has settled.

No sé en dónde voy a estar en cinco o diez años pero, si estoy con vida, es obvio que estaré a tu lado.

Nostalgia reaches into the past with both hands to grasp what is already gone and likely never will be again. Legacy reaches into the past with one hand to grasp what is teachable and passes it forward with the other hand to the next generation.

No subject is closer to my heart than the family . . . The moral foundation of our country is in danger of crumbling as families break up and parents neglect their responsibilities.

Not all mysteries are meant to be solved. Not all secrets are meant to be told.

No, that's where you are wrong. Your mind was full of sadness and darkness. That is a very different thing entirely. On earth it's nearly impossible to know it, but our minds are not at all who we are. Our brains are just an organ. When we died, our minds died too. All of this, all of what is to come, it's your soul. Our souls never die. They are the very root of who we are, not what we are, but who we are.

Nothing makes sense, not that much of the world ever did." Quote from the book: "UnHoly Pursuit: The Devil on My Trail.

Nothing crushes the soul of a father more than the loss of the beloved son he failed to lavish his love on.

Nothing is rigid. Things change. You can change your mind. You can change your thinking.

No tie is as strong as family, making it the hardest one to break.

Nothing is off-limits to me, tiny human. You think the desire in your heart is buried, but I couldn't ignore it if I tried! It means this: you want me to peace out? Shut it all down? Fine! I'll go! But you'll never get your next wish. Your secret wish. [. .] A mother's love. A father you know. A world at peace. A sky of stars. This could be yours . . . or you could lose it forever. And I can go. Doesn't matter to me, you finite speck.

Not necessary that every problem has a solution, you have to live with 'some' problems..rather than forcing a solution and doing a blunder, live with it.. People always have solutions for 'your' problems but none for their own..

Not only does God give us a new relationship with Himself and make us citizens of His kingdom, but He also gives us a new family—the family of God.

Not his real home, his real home, the one he never named any more, was the dark and sooty chamber in his heart that contained his sister and his brother and, because it was an accommodating kind of space, the entire filthy history of the industrial revolution.

Nothing you could do would make me send you away. Nothing.

Now, as they pressured perfect footprints into the snow that had been accumulating all day, his father took Harry's hand. "Heshele, how are you?" "OK, I guess." "Are you very sad?" "I don't know. I know I should be. But what does it mean to be sad?" His father stopped. He cupped his free hand to let the snow gather. It quickly turned from an inviting white coating to black-specked gray water. "Sadness is in my hand. In a second, a thing of beauty becomes dirty water; innocence leaves a child's eyes; he who strived for immortality lies forgotten under weeds. Sad is missing the love that death has sealed in the ground or that life has denied life to." "Then I'm sad. When you took my hand, I remembered how he took my hand when we went to the pier to fish. And I thought: That will never happen again. And then I thought: Up until now I never understood the word never, and there was a lump in my throat.

Nukuu ya mwandishi wa vitabu wa Brazili, Paulo Coelho, "Tunapopenda tunajitahidi siku zote kuwa wazuri zaidi kuliko jinsi sisi wenyewe tulivyo. Tunapojitahidi kuwa wazuri zaidi kuliko jinsi sisi wenyewe tulivyo, kila kitu katika maisha yetu kinakuwa kizuri hali kadhalika.", inadhihirisha kikamilifu tabia ambayo bibi yangu (Martha Maregesi) alijitahidi kuwa nayo katika kipindi cha maisha yake yote. Alikuwa mtu mwenye furaha sana. Alikuwa na tabasamu lenye kuambukiza ambalo marafiki na familia yake hawakuweza kujizuia kutabasamu pia alipofurahi nao. Pamoja na kwamba alikumbana na matatizo mengi na bahati mbaya nyingi katika maisha yake, alijulikana kama mtu mwenye upendo na uvumilivu mkubwa.

Now, Kieran whispered those names in the darkness of the night as if they were prayers, when sleep was a sluggish yet heavy pull on his eyelids, when his thoughts would start to slowly evaporate in tandem, when he was lonesome for his Angels.

Now “my Germany” is not only a distant consciousness, but a solid and living part of me that I carry with me wherever I go.

Of course the activists—not those whose thinking had become rigid, but those whose approach to revolution was imaginatively anarchic—had long ago grasped the reality which still eluded the press: we were seeing something important. We were seeing the desperate attempt of a handful of pathetically unequipped children to create a community in a social vacuum. Once we had seen these children, Ave could no longer overlook the vacuum, no longer pretend that the society’s atomization could be reversed. This was not a traditional generational rebellion. At some point between 1945 and 1967 we had somehow neglected to tell these children the rules of the game we happened to be playing. Maybe we had stopped believing in the rules ourselves, maybe we were having a failure of nerve about the game. Maybe there were just too few people around to do the telling. These were children who grew up cut loose from the web of cousins and great-aunts and family doctors and lifelong neighbors who had traditionally suggested and enforced the society’s values. They are children who have moved around a lot, San Jose, Chula Vista, here. They are less in rebellion against the society than ignorant of it, able only to feed back certain of its most publicized self-doubts, Vietnam, Saran-Wrap, diet pills, the Bomb. They feed back exactly what is given them. Because they do not believe in words—words are for “typeheads,” Chester Anderson tells them, and a thought which needs words is just one more of those ego trips—their only proficient vocabulary is in the society’s platitudes. As it happens I am still committed to the idea that the ability to think for one’s self depends upon one’s mastery of the language, and I am not optimistic about children who will settle for saying, to indicate that their mother and father do not live together, that they come from “a broken home.” They are sixteen, fifteen, fourteen years old, younger all the time, an army of children waiting to be given the words.

Of all the people I have ever known you are the only one I don't know.

Of course, it’s now obvious why he was so angry that day. People don’t move into hospice to live but to die. And that half an egg sandwich I ended up making him–that sandwich was the last meal he ate in our Haight-Ashbury apartment, our one true home.