Best 63 quotes in «orphan quotes» category

I feel akin to the Platypus. An orphan in a family. A swimmer, a recluse. Part bird, part fish, part lizard.

I love the holiday season, almost as much as I love touching myself in front of orphans.

If I lose show business - I'll really be an orphan!

I'm an orphan!" Constance cried gleefully. "I'm an orphan!" ~ The Prisoner's Dilemma

Just because something's damaged doesn't mean it shouldn't be treated with respect.' 'Ad,' Wallace said, 'it's a coffee table, not an orphan.

Orphans are easier to ignore before you know their names; but once you know, everything changes.

Just love the one in front of you. Take in the orphan, take in the widow. Just love the one in front of you.

I write sets of books, but I've also written a lot of orphans.

Life Insurance Motto - Robbing the widows early and orphan.

We probably looked like starving orphan children. Hey! We were starving orphan children.

My passion is kids, more than just kids is underprivileged kids and orphans.

Poetry is an orphan of silence.

That's it then. Cancel the kitchen scraps for lepers and orphans, no more merciful beheadings, and call off Christmas.

You can't avoid orphan stories, child. Every story is an orphan story. We are all orphaned sooner or later.

A foolish son has no advantage over a wise orphan.

Without me, rap is just a bunch of orphans.

When you're an orphan, you don't wake up every day and tell yourself, "I'm an orphan again today. Why did this happen to me?" You just get on with your life. I've had other challenges that were much greater than that.

After every battle, he ritually dips his hood into the blood of his enemies. I’ve seen the hood, kept under glass in the armory. The fabric is stiff and stained a brown so deep it’s almost black, except for a few smears of green. Sometimes I go down and stare at it, trying to see my parents in the tide lines of dried blood. I want to feel something, something besides a vague queasiness. I want to feel more, but every time I look at it, I feel less.

Even with the way you usually carry on over children, I wouldn't have expected this. Actually bringing him to your home- what will Lord Hunter say?" "I don't know. I'm sure Hunter won't approve, but there's something about this boy that makes me want to keep him safe." "Lara, you feel that way about every child you encounter." "Yes, but this one is special." Lara felt awkward and tongue-tied as she fumbled for a rational explanation. "When I first saw him, he had a mouse in his pocket. He had brought it from prison." "A mouse," Rachel repeated, shivering suddenly. "Dead or alive?" "Alive and kicking," Lara said ruefully. "Johnny was taking care of it. Isn't that remarkable? Locked away in that prison, facing horrors you and I could never imagine... and he found a little creature to love and care for." Rachel shook her head and smiled as she stared at Lara. "So that's the attraction. The two of you share a habit of collecting strays. You're kindred spirits.

A Jewish Native American half-breed orphan playing bagpipes wasn't the sort of impression I ever wanted to make

...and when the Assembly arrived at Dusk I hasten'd into the Streets and made my self a child of Hazard. There was a Band of little Vagabonds who met by moon-light in the Moorfields, and for a time I wandred with them; most of them had been left as Orphans in the Plague and, out of the sight of Constable or Watch, would call out to Passers-by Lord Bless you give us a Penny or Bestow a half penny on us: I still hear their Voices in my Head when I walk abroad in a Croud, and some times I am seiz'd with Trembling to think I may be still one of them.

Bee had never been so hungry in her life. Oh, she’d been hungry plenty of times. Stomach-growling, eat-a-big-meal hungry. But this was different.

For years, well into my adult life, I had recurring nightmares about that desk. I'd be walking past it, barefoot on a cold, hard floor. I'd hear a sound like wind rushing through a tunnel and feel a magnetic force sucking me inside. I'd be pulled, helpless, underneath the scarred roll-top and into the cubbyholes where the papers were stashed. I'd find myself in a room with a dirt floor, strapped to a table, and people would be standing around branding ugly names on my body with hot irons

And after that until the end, there was no relief from being a girl with chores that she wasn’t being paid for, a girl with no new sandals and a friend who wasn’t a friend but a mistress, and a family that wasn’t but people who owned her and ordered her about, and nothing at all but her pretty breasts and her round bottom and her misbehaving hair to help her feel any different.

Charity begins on the street when you are homeless.

Destiny is not always preordained. Life is about making choices. Our lives are the sum of all the choices we make, the bridges we cross, and the ones we burn. Our souls cast long shadows over many people, even after we are gone. Fate, luck, and providence are the consequence of our freedom of choice, not the determinants. When justice is served by following our principles, making good decisions brings us inner peace.

For a terrible time of life a teen-ager deceives himself; he believes he can trick the world. He believes he is invulnerable. An adolescent who is an orphan at this phase is in danger of never growing up.

For no man has adherents on the day of woe. I gave to the beggar, I raised the orphan, I gave success to the poor as to the wealthy..

For my sake,” he said firmly, addressing the air in front of him as though it were a tribunal, “I dinna want ye to bear another child. I wouldna risk your loss, Sassenach,” he said, his voice suddenly husky. “Not for a dozen bairns. I’ve daughters and sons, nieces and nephews, grandchildren—weans enough.” He looked at me directly then, and spoke softly. “But I’ve no life but you, Claire.” He swallowed audibly, and went on, eyes fixed on mine. “I did think, though . . . if ye do want another child . . . perhaps I could still give ye one.

Is there any greater mystery than the separateness of each person?

History is orphan. It can speak, but cannot hear. It can give, but cannot take. Its wounds and tragedies can be read and known, but cannot be avoided or cured.

If God is calling you to adopt, He will accomplish it. If God is leading you to care for the fatherless across the globe in some way other than adoption, He will accomplish it.

If you are too much interested in the story of others, then your own story will be orphaned!

I finally let someone else in and now the weight of what happened to me isn’t so heavy to carry around.

I miss her,' Fyrian sobbed, 'My mother. I miss her so much. This witch should pay for what she's done.' Glerk stood tall as a mountain. He was serene as a bog. He looked at Fyrian with all the love in the world 'No, Fyrian. That answer is too easy, my friend. Look deeper.

I propose a conspiracy of orphans. We exchange winks. We reject hierarchies. All hierarchies. We take the shit of the world for granted and we exchange stories about how we nevertheless get by. We are impertinent. More than half the stars in the universe are orphan-stars belonging to no constellation. And they give off more light than all the constellation stars.

Orphans? Would you really? Adopt children?" "There are advantages. If they turn out badly, we can blame their natural parents. We can also choose our own assortment of ages and genders. We can even get them ready-grown, if we wish.

It’s a neighborhood where every dad has at least one job and where parents often end conversations with the words: no guts, no glory.

Maybe it was being orphaned and alone all my life, but I always steeled for the worst outcome I could envision. That way I could shrug and be almost happy with anything that fell short of the worst. It was a peculiar life skill and one I had gotten damn good at.

Okay… This looks bad. You cowboy around with the Avengers some. Guys got, what, armor. Magic. Super-powers. Super-strength. Shrink-dust. Grow-rays. Magic. Healing factors. I’m an orphan raised by carnies fighting with a stick and a string from the Paleolithic era. So when I say this looks “bad”? I promise you it feels worse.

I thought back to Meg’s advice about Hemingway sentences—simple declarative statements that showed the truth and distilled the meaning. My first attempt at that had been cynical and messed up. I gave it a go again. Find one lost sheep. The angels rejoice.

It’s the tale of one ominous Dextra Hyde, who spent her childhood in the cold confines of the Happy Forest Orphanage just outside of Sceaux.

My hand shakes and some of the coffee I was bringing toward my mouth slips out of the cup and onto the table. Starving? This handsome CEO with his Jaguar and penthouse suite was starving?

Some people ate less food less often when they each had a home than they now do as hobos.

Someone experiencing the stages of grief is rarely aware of how his behavior might appear to others. Grief often produces a “zoom lens effect,” in which the focus is entirely on oneself, to the exclusion of external considerations.

This horrible half-grief has made me feel complicit in darkness. I worry that my sadness will be interpreted as an endorsement of his choices—of his very existence—and in this matter I don’t want to be misunderstood, so I cannot admit that I grieve him, that I care at all for the loss of this monstrous man who raised me. And in the absence of healthy action I remain frozen, a sentient stone in the wake of my father’s death. I hated him. I hated him with a violent intensity I’ve never since experienced. But the fire of true hatred, I realize, cannot exist without the oxygen of affection. I would not hurt so much, or hate so much, if I did not care. And it is this, my unrequited affection for my father, that has always been my greatest weakness. So I lie here, marinating in a sorrow I can never speak of, while regret consumes my heart. I am an orphan.

Never go on a date unarmed.” Words of wisdom from my father. Well, my foster father. I was an orphan, of course. The best kings always are.

There would be fewer absent fathers, if straight men were turned on only by women with whom they would not mind having children.

The sign says that the Scald Mt. Rod & Gun Club has adopted the highway, but the Minotaur knows an orphan when he sees it.

This is the great world, and I am only Kim. Who is Kim?' He considered his own identity, a thing he had never done before, till his head swam. He was one insignificant person in all this roaring whirl of India, going southward to he knew not what fate.