Best 111 quotes in «family drama quotes» category

It’s like returning to a familiar room and noticing objects had been moved while you were gone—a chair here, a picture frame there. Items that were once brand new were suddenly broken in and worn from age. It was all very subtle, but enough to suspect paranormal activity or a cruel practical joke. When no one else saw what you saw, the freak factor really kicked in, because you were singled out and left questioning reality." ~Ellia

It's like we grew up in a war zone," he told Rene. He laughed. "God. Jesus." He got serious. "I'm not kidding," he said.

It was the same mantra she had silently chanted before on other festive occasions. 'May you be happy'--her mother had wanted to be happy, hadn't she? Didn't everyone?" Things Unsaid, from Chapter, "Birthday Celebration

I was so done with looking at life through the eyes of beer-drinking cheese-heads. I wanted to go on that mission trip and look through the eyes of someone from a different culture and see what they saw. I wanted to meet people who didn’t crush the can of what they just drank on their forehead.-Rebecca Meyer, Crooked Lines

I was traumatizing her. I could only hope that at three she was too young to retain any of this in memory, that in the years to follow I could make up for any future need for therapy I was creating now. Could I? Or would she always have a deep insecurity, the kind that send people careening from one disastrous romance to the next? And why did I have to live my life obsessed with these kinds of concerns, this constant attempt to control the most uncertain of outcomes, my own effect on someone else's mind?

John was still making comments regarding violent things that he shouldn't, but I hoped he was just being a big mouth. Nobody was going to listen to me anyway.

Kip is still one of my best friends. When you have a shared experience with someone who showed you some kindness when you needed it most, it sticks with you.

- Lei non è di quella zona? - gli chiese il fotografo che viaggiava con lui. - Sì, - rispose. Tuttavia non telefonò ai suoi. Junpei prese l'aereo e ritornò a Tokyo e alla sua solita routine. Non accendeva la televisione e non apriva i giornali. Quando si parlava di terremoto, taceva. Era un'eco da un passato morto e lontano. Dopo la laurea non aveva mai più messo piede in quella città. Ma ciononostante le immagini di quel paesaggio in rovina avevano riaperto in lui ferite nascoste. Sembrava che quel disastro immane, fatale, stesse modificando impercettibilmente ma inesorabilmente diversi aspetti della sua vita. Provava un profondo senso di solitudine, mai avvertito prima. Non ho nessuna radice, pensava, non sono legato a nulla.

Listening to Eddy describe his relationship with our mom seemed to indicate that what I feared would be my reality. He never talked poorly about our mother, but he was as honest and sincere as he could be. In a way, he was almost defensive of her to us – trying to help us understand what life had been like for her, so that we could comprehend the choices that she had made.

Maybe I shouldn’t and I should flip my middle finger up to the world. Hell, I should make all my fingers dance in a bouquet of fuck offs.

Mindfulness won’t ensure you’ll win an argument with your sister. Mindfulness won’t enable you to bypass your feelings of anger or hurt either. But it may help you see the conflict in a new way, one that allows you to break through old patterns.

Mom used to tell me not to worry when people didn't get me. People throw rocks at things that shine - from the mixed up files of Tilly Adam's journal

Most of my wrinkles are from laughter, except for these right between my eyebrows. These are my 'WTF' lines and those suckers are deep, all given to me by our family dinners.

Most people are as happy as other people decide they should be.

My father used to say there are two kinds of people: the noticers and the noticed

My grandfather had been the ugliest, darkest, foulest, most depraved figure of my childhood, more beast than human, and I had grown up to be him, locked in the basement with my secrets as the rest of the family reveled in the petty and ordinary upstairs. Down there, I saw my black, ancient, ineluctable core exposed, like a crab forced out of its shell--dirty, vulnerable, and obscene. For the first time in my life, I was truly alone.

Next to God, Family is the best thing.

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

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.

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..

One day, he'd force Isabelle Grayson to eat every last one of her words, as if they were ingredients in a rancid soufflé.

One thing more, Leon. You say that life is meaningless, but I believe it's life that's sacred. I talk about art and sex because they're the most intense life experiences I know, so I feel they must be sacred too. They let us experience the values we've chosen for our lives in one exquisite not of pleasure exactly but of oneness with all of existence and with our own personal relationship to it. Art says: "This is Life." Sex says: "This is Living.

Kate was about to protest when something caused her to look in her mother’s direction. She was standing statue-like in front of the television with that brave, painted-on smile. Then Kate realized what had caught her attention: her mother’s tear-filled eyes were reflecting the on-off motion of the blinkers like a watery mirror. Kate stared transfixed at the flashing points of light that betrayed her mother’s pain. The urge to tell her father how much she wanted him to be proud of her and how much he had hurt her, faded in the dark depths of her mother’s eyes.

One thing more, Leon. You say that life is meaningless, but I believe it's life that's sacred. I talk about art and sex because they're the most intense life experiences I know, so I feel they must be sacred too. They let us experience the values we've chosen for our lives in one exquisite moment not of pleasure exactly but of oneness with all of existence and with our own personal relationship to it. Art says: "This is Life." Sex says: "This is Living.

Sarah. She was one reason things in Madi’s life couldn’t change. Her schedule linked her to Madi as much as any grade, school, or group of friends. Her sister was a hashtag that couldn’t be altered. Madi couldn’t even be upset with her for it.

Okay, I’ve got the hidden microphones with GPS here,” Agent Bounter said. “Let’s get one on you.” “Now, sir?” 
“The Russians are on the radar. It’s time.” As Bounter turned to pick up the tiny button-size microphone, Grant clenched his hands into fists, his anticipation building. It’s time.

She and I had exchanged a few text messages, although they had been mostly to remind me just how pissed she’d be if I started anything with her asshole of a brother. The same asshole who had last night said, ‘If you ever hurt her, psycho Sid, I’ll kill you.’ Naturally, I’d replied by dangling him over the balcony until he begged me to pull him back up. It had been kind of fun.” (Salem)

She took two steps toward the door, rolling her shoulders as if walking into a fight. It would be better to just get it over with. Rip the first day off like a bandage rather than wallowing in her misery like a baby.

She will always be etched in my being, like thread sewn through the fibers of my very soul.

She was tall and wiry, a dark smudge - a bruise or dirt - marring the light, inner surface of her forearm. Piercings dotted the shells of her ears, a tattoo peeking out from under her waistband. Drew’s breath caught and held as she turned and her face came into view. She was beautiful in the way that bonfires were - mesmerizing and more than a little dangerous - brilliant rather than pretty. Like those flames, she drew him forward.

So how long do I have to pack?

Sometimes I feel like a normal person. Sometimes I forget I’m on parole, that I’m not really free.

Some People Develop So Many Misunderstandings About You in their Heart & Mind... That they Always Think that You Are Wrong

Some people, though related by blood, are as sworn enemies. Others, bound only by friendship, would die for one another.

Sometimes opposites attract, or so they say, but Paloma and Rocío were like arroz and mangú: they didn’t really mix well.

Some people aren't meant to stay in your life. But, that doesn't mean you can't carry a piece of them in your heart.

Stuff happens to most people. One thing going wrong, I mean. One family member missing a chance to help. One who cuts you off. One person with her own shit to deal with. One of those things isn't enough to send you falling through the cracks. But all of them together, they accumulate. An abandoned mother here. A missing uncle there. A disappearing father 2 generations back. A friendship broken by fear or mistrust or addiction. Genes that make you vulnerable to certain problems. Two children who aren't loved right meeting up when they're not really adults yet and having 2 more children who aren't loved right. It adds up. It all adds up.

That's how birthdays were in our house. All hateful charades of pretty clothes, expensive presents, and ugly words . . .

That moment when your parents mess up... and suddenly you’re the ‘go-to’ adult in the family.

That's what a good daughter is supposed to do--love her mother even if her mother doesn't love her back." Things Unsaid, from Chapter One, "Family Matters

That was when I saw their hate come out. They fought on the front lawn. Balloons and my birthday cake stood witness as I watched every regretful blow from my mother. I knew my sister was at war with my mother, but I never knew what her cruelty was capable of. My mother’s military was larger than Jayme’s. My mother already had my father, and she had her five children, including me.

The four of them stand in the cockpit of the Misdemeanor as they motor from one town to another. They pass their house, which is not theirs any longer. Libby cuts the throttle, and they stall there in front of their sprawling memory. The four of them have come up for the closing; since all of them are owners, they all must be present to sign away this place. They have given most of the land to the Maine Preservation Society, and the house, they have sold to a family who promises not to tear the whole thing down, though they know that is a lie. The oak is yellow and peeks from behind the house. The glossy white windows of the great room look down upon them. It is cold and they all wear their foul-weather gear, bright-yellow slickers, except Gwen, in a red poncho to accommodate the swell of her belly. Libby keeps one hand on the tiller and the other she slips into Tom’s hand. He gives it a squeeze and then puts his arm around her. Danny moves from the stern to stand between Tom and Gwen. They all stand on the starboard side looking at the house. Libby and Tom, then Danny, his hand resting on his brother’s shoulder, and Gwen next to him, her arms crossed over her protruding belly, her hair long and dark hanging down her back. She is no longer a beacon, but a buoy in her poncho, red right returning. The sky is gray and low and promises a choppy ferry ride to the mainland, but there in the safe haven of the harbor it is calm and windless, and the house isn’t empty, but expectant. The flat water, dark green now, lies empty, the float pulled out the month before. Going from town dock to town dock, there is no need for a tender. There is no way for them to come ashore, even if they wanted to. A house like this is not supposed to exist now. It comes from another era. It is a ghost, like the schooners that sail through the thoroughfare every summer. It is an aberration, a figment. It is their great shingled memory.

The house was quieter than usual, the sounds muffled and soft. It made her throat ache: The darkness, the kitchen, the single light. It felt like she was watching a movie of her life from an earlier era. Before Mom left, before all the trouble. Guilt twinged in Madi’s stomach. Before I took off and left Dad to deal with Sarah alone.

Sophie clutched Grant tighter. 'I don’t know what screwed-up messages from your family are floating around in your head right now, but you’re staying right here.

There's a big difference between want and need," she muttered to herself, picking her pad and pen back up. "I mean I want a bikini body, but I need chicken nuggets.

The Truth about America’s Silicon Valley- Angels in the Silicon Riveting and insightful regarding progressivism and the social upheavals living in the Silicon Valley.- John Yoo, UC Berkeley Constitutional Lawyer, novelist, and public servant

The story of my birth that my mother told me went like this: "When you were coming out I wasn't ready yet and neither was the nurse. The nurse tried to push you back in, but I shit on the table and when you came out, you landed in my shit." If there ever was a way to sum things up, the story of my birth was it.

We co-existed in peaceful detachment

Three things happened in 1945. Daddy went missing, Annie started wetting the bed, and the Lester girl sang about Hitler in the middle of Sunday service.

Treating people genuinely nice often leads to disappointment when they just don’t bother to treat you back the same way.