Best 4246 quotes in «family quotes» category

Her family... Love and involvement brought joy, but as well could become a hideously heavy millstone slung about one's neck. And the worst was that she felt useless because there was not a mortal thing she could do to help resolve their problems.

Here was a people. A family. A faith. Her people. Her family. Her faith. Here was a silence broken.

Heritage was everything: it was a golden skeleton key, gleaming with power, able to get the wielder through any number of locked doors; it was the christening of the marriage bed with virgin blood on snow-white sheets; it was the benediction of a pristine pedigree, refined through ages of selective breeding and the occasional mercy culling. It was life, and death, and all that spanned between. It was his birthright.

Her magnificence is deeper than skin.

Hermes gazed up at the stars. "My dear young cousin, if there's one thing I've learned over the eons, it's that you can't give up on your family, no matter how tempting they make it. It doesn't matter if they hate you, or embarrass you, or simply don't appreciate your genius for inventing the Internet-" "You invented the Internet?" It was my idea, Martha said. Rats are delicious, George said. "It was my idea!" Hermes said. "I mean the Internet, not the rats.

He sat staring before him, seeing nothing but a long line of Mortimers, inexhaustable and prolific to the end of time.

He says that we must protect our families no matter what. No matter what we got to do to protect them.

He's giving me that look - sympathetic but also exasperated and mystified, like How is it possible that my sane and reasonable DNA created such a crazy daughter?

He's part of my family." "You don't have a family, Ella." Although I had made similar comments in the past, it rankled to hear him say it. "We're individuals bound by a pattern of reciprocal obligation," I said. "If a group of chimps in the Amazon can be called a family, I think the Varners qualify.

He's my family, and you don't just push family aside for some itch you want to scratch. That's not how real love works. Real love is support, even when you're fighting. Real love in honesty, even when the truth hurts like hell. Real love is being there through every miserable minute and every indefinite minute.

He's not a parasite if she needs him, too, and if she gives what he will not take. (One day soon, she will learn the word symbiosis and nod, pleased to have a name for it at last. But long before that, she will have already decided that family will do.)

He's on the school bus and Uncle Wade is standing outside the window. The bus hasn't pulled out yet and Uncle Wade is punching the air and ducking his head and giving him a thumbs up sign and then a big smile. The big smile says do not worry. It says you can do this. ... His smile says a lot and so do his punching hands and his hooked thumbs, and before everything else it can possibly say, it says the thing Nick needs most. The big smile says I love you.

He stares at me in blankly. “Are you accusing me of not caring for your sister?” he asks. “If I truly believed you didn’t care for Taryn, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He gives a long sigh. “Because you’d murder me?” “If you’re playing with Taryn, Madoc will murder you; I won’t even get a chance.” I sheath my knife and head toward the door. “Your ridiculous family might be surprised to find that not everything is solved by murder,” Locke calls after me. “We would be surprised to find that,” I call back.

He (the immigrant father) would walk by proxy in the Elysian fields of liberal learning.

He took a deep breath in, still managing himself as if he were resisting temptation. He was a soldier, his father was in the service, too. Crying wasn't something Morell men did. They just didn't. He hadn't cried at Robbie Morell's funeral. So he wasn't going to now.

He told me that whatever happens no matter what bad things we do, there’s always a way back through family. Family will be there when everything else is stripped away. You don’t turn your back on family.

He took my family,” Adamat said. “Blackmailed me, and he still has my wife and oldest son. I want to get them back, and then kill him slowly.” “A lot of violence planned, for a family man,” the eunuch said. Adamat leaned forward. “‘Family,’” he said. “Remember that word. There is nothing that will make a man more desperate and more capable of violence than endangering his family.

He was all iron outside, but all father within.

He was not being courageous as he bore the freezing stream for his wife and children. He simply chose between the lesser of two evils—the pain and suffering he would endure in the river, a physical pain that he could stand to bear, or the pain and suffering he would feel if he had to watch his family wade across and freeze. It was not a decision. The choice had already been made the moment Ole proposed marriage to his wife and welcomed these beautiful daughters into the world.

He was perfectly capable of looking after himself, although after his marriage he had lost the knack for it. He missed the comfort of all the small things Charlotte did for him,but these were nothing compared to the loneliness. There was no one to talk to, with whom to share his feelings, to laugh, or to simply speak of the day. And he missed the sound of the children's voices, giggling, their running footsteps, their incessant questions and demands for his attention or approval. No one interrupted to say "Look at me, Papa" or "What is this for?" or "What does this mean?" or the favorite "Why?" Peace was not peace anymore, it was simply silence.

He was made a prisoner in the Tower of London and stripped of his property. He remained imprisoned in the tower until 1646.

He will choose us," Julian said. "We are his family." Kieran's eye shone. "I wouldn'tbe so sure, young Shadowhunter. Those of the Hunt are loyal to the Hunt." "He isn't of the Hunt," Emma said. "He is a Blackthorn.

He was the oldest. When we left Kentucky, our folks told him to look after me. Didn't say a word to me. Wouldn't have occurred to them.

His eyes went again to the crucifix above his head, reflected in the mirror. The strained arms, the arched spine. All that effort to open the gates of heaven for us and we (he thought) probably spend out first hours among the heavenly hosts settling old scores with relatives.

His love for me is like his sewing: various colors and too much thread, the stitching uneven.

His love wrote the first chapters of my life and is the reason I never had to wonder if I was adored.

His heart was too heavy to bear. He felt the weight of conscience, the weight of responsibility, the weight of fraternity.

His lovely wife tends her zinnias in the mild morning light and his find young man comes fondly mishandling that perpetually lost sheep of a cat, Soapy, once more back from perdition for the time being, to what would have been general rejoicing.

His wife, Genevieve, had her bare feet up on the sofa, exhausted by the responsibility of coordinating the domestic crisis of Christmas in a house with a dreamy husband, four kids, two dogs, a mare in the paddock, a rabbit, and a guinea pig, plus sundry invading mice and rats that kept finding inventive routes into their kitchen. In many ways it was a house weathering a permanent state of siege.

(His WIFE, understanding everything, wants him to stay. MARVIN wants to go. Or MARVIN wants to stay. She wants him to go. Anyway, he's going.)

Hold my hands and let walk together.

Holiness is found in how we treat others, not in how we contemplate the cosmos. As our experiences in marriages, families, and friendship teach us, it takes relationships to provide the friction that wears down our rough edges and sanctifies us.

Home Cooking: The Comforts of Old Family Favorites." Easy. Baked macaroni and cheese with crunchy bread crumbs on top; simple mashed potatoes with no garlic and lots of cream and butter; meatloaf with sage and a sweet tomato sauce topping. Not that I experienced these things in my house growing up, but these are the foods everyone thinks of as old family favorites, only improved. If nothing else, my job is to create a dreamlike state for readers in which they feel that everything will be all right if only they find just the right recipe to bring their kids back to the table, seduce their husbands into loving them again, making their friends and neighbors envious. I'm tapping my keyboard, thinking, what else?, when it hits me like a soft thud in the chest. I want to write about my family's favorites, the strange foods that comforted us in tense moments around the dinner table. Mom's Midwestern "hot dish": layers of browned hamburger, canned vegetable soup, canned sliced potatoes, topped with canned cream of mushroom soup. I haven't tasted it in years. Her lime Jell-O salad with cottage cheese, walnuts, and canned pineapple, her potato salad with French dressing instead of mayo. I have a craving, too, for Dad's grilling marinade. "Shecret Shauce" he called it in those rare moments of levity when he'd perform the one culinary task he was willing to do. I'd lean shyly against the counter and watch as he poured ingredients into a rectangular cake pan. Vegetable oil, soy sauce, garlic powder, salt and pepper, and then he'd finish it off with the secret ingredient: a can of fruit cocktail. Somehow the sweetness of the syrup was perfect against the salty soy and the biting garlic. Everything he cooked on the grill, save hamburgers and hot dogs, first bathed in this marinade overnight in the refrigerator. Rump roasts, pork chops, chicken legs all seemed more exotic this way, and dinner guests raved at Dad's genius on the grill. They were never the wiser to the secret of his sauce because the fruit bits had been safely washed into the garbage disposal.

Home is supposed to be a place of security, the last resort of refuge.

Hombres son los que creen que pueden regir las vidas de los demás sin establecer ningún lazo con ellos. ¿Piensas que la decisión de vincularse o no depende sólo de ti? Soy dueño de mi corazón. Lo entrego a voluntad. No pienso entregárselo a alguien que me expulsa de su lado.

Home is where I built my life. - Henry Morbower

Home isn't a place. It's not having a bed to come home to, or a yard, or a Christmas tree at the holidays. Home is the people who love you.

Honest, hopelessly romantic old-fashioned gentleman seeks lady friend who enjoys elegant dining, dancing and the slow bloom of affection.

Home is the people who love you.

Home is where they want you to stay longer

Home is an emotional state, a place in the imagination where feelings of security, belonging, placement, family, protection, memory and personal history abide. -Thomas Moore

Home is home.

Home is where they have to accept you.

Home is where you are loved the most and act the worst.

Homes were the first universities. Mothers were the first professors. Obedient children were the first graduates.

Hopefully, your marriage will bring added dimensions to love. Hopefully, your unique love will bring new meaning to all our lives. That success cannot be hidden. Good improves love. Evil poisons love. Nothing proves this more dramatically than how we treat our loved ones. pg 63

Honour and I would have to create our world, live by our own rules. My family wasn't ready for her just yet. I didn't know if they ever would be.

Hope is made of air, and wishes. An empty box wrapped in shiny paper.

Hope is made of air, and wishes. An empty box wrapped in shiny paper. And now Dad wants me to be the ambassador of hope for his foundation. How can I be the ambassador of hope, when hope doesn't change anything? When unrealized hopes only bring pain and despair?

Hope, strive and try to be more like Christ until the day we will see Him. Let Him find you faithfully and in obedient serving Him. He is coming quicker than people think.