Best 232 quotes in «siblings quotes» category

Gab has just returned this journal to me, saying he found it on the kitchen table. I suspect he's been reading it. If so - KEEP OUT!!! and I LOVE YOU!!! but mainly THIS IS PRIVATE. KEEP OUT!!! M, If this is a private journal then you shouldn't leave it open in a place where I can see it. Gabriel

God, I wish he and I had been genuinely close as opposed to the "Don't-they-look-nice-together-in-the-airbrushed-family-portrait close.

Grandmotherly sales clerks present an unusual problem in their tendency to praise Polly for her beauty. 'Aren't you beautiful?' is a common greeting (to which Polly would reply with devastating honesty: 'I know'). This necessitated long speeches from me about the inconsequence of exterior beauty in comparison with the vital importance of interior beauty. The devastating logic of my speeches has now prompted Polly to offer the compromise response, 'I'm beautiful on the inside, too' (sometimes ungraciously adding: 'I have a brother called Bob who's beautiful as well — but he's only beautiful on the inside'). -(from Høstens Vemod)

Hannah, as if she understood her place in the cosmos, grew from quiet infant to watchful child: a child fond of nooks and corners, who curled up in closets, behind sofas, under dangling tablecloths, staying out of sight as well as out of mind, to ensure the terrain of the family did not change.

He gave his sister a narrow-eyed glance. "One could almost infer that the house means more to you than my future happiness." "Not at all. Your future happiness means at least as much to me as the house." "Thank you," he said dryly.

He is only fifteen! Does she really think he is prepared for marriage, especially with his intellectual range of a teacup?

Hey, you feel like driving today?" he asks. "I don't want to walk to the bus stop. It's too cold." "You feel like dying today?" "Sure. I like risking my life. Keeps things in perspective.

He keeps getting older while I'm not paying attention.

Her brothers assured her that as much as they wished to demonstrate the appropriate acts of worship, they were currently suffering from very painful knee ailments caused by chasing their troublesome sister around the countryside, so would she mind very much if, instead of genuflecting, they just cussed each time she entered a room and cheered every time she exited?

He squinted up at the sky and quickly rose to his feet, sheathing his knife. “Rosie,” he beckoned to her but kept his eyes on the shadows that hung low brushing the top of the keep. “Rosie, come inside. There’s a storm almost ready to hit.” She skipped over to him and slumped her shoulders, but he teased a grin out of her the next moment. “I’ll fill your bucket for you if you set up the blanket house with Maire.” She shoved the bucket into his hands and entered the house, sing-songing for her sister.

I don’t know. She didn’t exactly say she didn’t want me. Shit. You’re making me sound like an ass.” “Aww. You’re not an ass. You’re just a confused man. That’s why God gave you a sister.

His role (if he had one, which he sometimes doubted) was to provide a comparison with his elder sister Bridget.

Holy shit my brother Is going to shit himself" darting his eyes down my body

How are you still standing?" "Am I? I feel like I'm falling.

I couldn't understand why he was acting this way. I took a breath, trying to think up something reasonable to counter his argument. "That is the stupidest thing you've ever said.

I don’t believe this. This is utter shit!” I yelled. “Does it look like I’m lying?” Steven asked. I rolled my eyes at his incredibly stupid question, “I don’t know. Let me look at you with my x-ray vision to see through this stupid blindfold and I’ll get back to you.

How did you know?” Benedict finally asked. One corner of Colin’s mouth tilted up into a crooked smile. “About Sophie? It’s rather obvious.” “Colin, she’s—” “A maid? Who cares? What is going to happen to you if you marry her?” Colin asked with a devil-may-care shrug of his shoulders. “People you couldn’t care less about will ostracize you? Hell, I wouldn’t mind being ostracized by some of the people with whom I’m forced to socialize.” Benedict shrugged dismissively. “I’d already decided I didn’t care about all that,” he said. “Then what in bloody hell is the problem?” Colin demanded. “It’s complicated.” “Nothing is ever as complicated as it is in one’s mind.

How rarely these few years, as work keeps up aloof, Or fares, or one thing or another, How we had days to spend under our parents' roof; Myself, my sister, and my brother. All five of us will die; to reckon from the past This flesh and blood is unforgiving. What's hard is that just one of us will be the last To bear it all and go on living.

I'd called Marin a nuisance, had made her feel unwelcome and unwanted, the same way I was feeling now. Not being wanted was the loneliest feeling in the world, it seemed, and if I could have had one more moment with Marin, I would have been sure to tell her I didn't mean it. She wasn't a pest. I loved her. She was wanted. More than she could ever know.

I don’t know if I can put it into words just yet, this feeling like something’s ending and I have to be close to it.

...I felt the wall between the world of secrets and the real world start to collapse. I felt the girls from the portrait becoming us and us becoming them...

If you don't stop I'll give YOU a SMACKINTOSH!

If you are a twin, you watch yourself live two lives–yours and hers. It’s constant comparison. I am never as good as the bad I wanted her to be. I was the only soldier I needed. We couldn’t haven known what splitting would mean. Time speeds past fast, scattering like shrapnel, and is quiet as cobwebs. We wait for the ambush. Sister will find out first; she’ll be my living memory. She will be the body left standing.

I forgave her, of course. I always did; I had to, because there were only the two of us. The two of us on our thorn-encircled island, waiting for rescue; and, on the mainland, everyone else.

I know what you mean. I usually take it out on my older sister. You can lease her for a weekend or something if you need a psychological punching bag. I'll even give you a discount.

If you intend to drink yourself to death,” Amelia had told Leo calmly, “I wish you would do it at a more affordable place.” “But I’m a viscount now,” Leo had replied nonchalantly. “I have to do it with style, or what will people say?” “That you were a wastrel and a fool, and the title might just as well have gone to a monkey?” That had elicited a grin from her handsome brother. “I’m sure that comparison is quite unfair to the monkey.

If you want to see something funny, it's a tough hood sticking his tongue out at his big brother.

I only meant, you know, you shouldn’t be wasting your time on imbeciles. I know how hard it is to find the right person, but that’s no reason to exhaustively work your way through all the wrong people. You seem to be living your romantic life by some kind of process of elimination. It’s like matching a Louis Quatorze armchair with one of those plastic patio tables. It simply doesn’t work.” “Oh, I see,” Bel said. “I’m an armchair, is that it?” “A Louis Quatorze armchair,” I qualified. “And my boyfriends are patio tables.” “Actually,” I remembered, “this one’s more like one of those self-assembly Swedish wardrobes.

I looked at my brothers, and Linnie, and Rodney, and felt something within me that had been clenched tight start to loosen a little. So maybe I wasn't just the youngest, the one who didn't get told things. I was also the one who came to help, who tried to make things work, who they called when they were in trouble.

I love him, and one day I’ll bury him, and until then, I’m going to be grateful that I’m allowed to watch him talk.

I'm bored of it all being miserable. I just want something to change. There's nothing wrong with that is there?

I should have felt proud, but instead I felt awful. That I had let him down so many times, that I had been a horrible brother. That he loved me anyway. That maybe he knew more about life than I did, even if I’d had more experience. Because knowing about life is really about knowing how it should be, not just how it is.

Isabelle wasn’t scared of much, but Alec was always fussing.

I saw it all,” Skye continued. “You should’ve seen the things your brother was doing to her." Deenie felt something crack and twist at her temple. "What? What did you say?" "Your brother going down on your Lise. Lise’s leg twitching like a dog’s.” Deenie felt her neck stiffen to wood, her hand leaping to it. She couldn’t stop it, or Skye. Why Skye would say— “She seemed to love it," Skye said, jaw out, her lips white. "She didn’t care who saw. Your brother didn’t either." "You shut the fuck up. You don’t know what you’re talking about. It wasn’t my brother," Deenie said. "Stop saying that. It wasn’t him.

It didn’t last long. Not many good things in a foster kid’s life last long. One day, Maura was gone. Her few things were packed in paper bags and a tearful Miss Louisa carried her out to Miss Hanrahan’s black state-owned Ford sedan with the state emblem on the door, and she was gone. The state had found a foster home that would take a little girl but couldn’t take the rest of us. There were no long goodbyes. She was just gone. I remember having an enormous sense of helplessness when they took her. Maura didn’t know where she were going or long she would be there. She was just gone

I suppose a better sister would have set about weaving him a shirt from nettles and throwing it over his furred-over body so that he could be released from his enchantment and resume his human form. I give him some cat food instead.

I tapped Matt. 'Want to go with me?' He slung his backpack over his shoulders. 'Oh, Tara, that’s a given.

I thought of Emily's legs hanging down as Mother carried her. I thought about the empty look on her face as Mother hugged her. I thought about never being able to play in the forest alone, or make a friend, or spend more than a few minutes by myself. I thought about not having even the privacy of my own bed at night. I thought, for the first time in a long time, about how those things had made me feel, when Mother slept with me. But to Lilith I said, "She doesn't know how good she's got it," and for a moment she and I were united once more in our disdain for our little sister, our parent's favorite, who couldn't understand how lucky she was.

I think I rescued myself.

I think you should shut the fuck up," Eli said, throwing his bag down with a thud that made everyone on the lab look up. "I think it’s time you do that." Stim looked at him carefully. Eyes darting between the two of them, A.J. seemed to be waiting for something, grinning a little. Stim shrugged. "Lise isn’t your sister, Nash," he said. "They’re not all your sisters.

It`s a strange day when I seek solace with my brother because my best friend is being too nosy. The world works in mysterious ways. I might be one of the only people on the planet who finds Percival Tunstall restful.

I tried to put myself in his place, and realized we looked exactly like what we were: a family. These strangely tied together individuals trying desperately to keep both ourselves and one another happy. Succeeding, and failing, and succeeding. When Jeremy called me up to light one of the thirteen candles on the cake, he said the kindest things, and I knew he meant each and every one. He talked about me teaching him how to ride a bike, how to swim, how to kick an arcade game in just the right place to get a free play. He was remembering the best of me. The way he spoke, I almost recognized who he was talking about.

I tried to show him things, but he didn't seem to study what I showed him. Usually, he just put whatever I handed him in his mouth. He would try to eat anything. I fed him Tabasco sauce and he yelled. Having a little brother helped me learn to relate to other people. Being a little brother, Snort learned to watch what he put in his mouth.

It's a commonly expressed and rather nice, romantic notion that we are all "sisters" and "brothers." Let's be real. Fact is, we might be better served to accept that we are all siblings. Siblings fight, pull each other's hair, steal stuff, and accuse each other indiscriminately. But siblings also know the undeniable fact that they are the same blood, share the same origins, and are family. Even when they hate each other. And that tends to put all things in perspective.

It's been my experience that only children never learn when to keep their fucking traps shut. An older brother would have beat that out of you.

It was after a Frontline television documentary screened in the US in 1995 that the Freyds' public profile as aggrieved parents provoked another rupture within the Freyd family, when William Freyd made public his own discomfort. 'Peter Freyd is my brother, Pamela Freyd is both my stepsister and sister-in-law,' he explained. Peter and Pamela had grown up together as step-siblings. 'There is no doubt in my mind that there was severe abuse in the home of Peter and Pam, while they were raising their daughters,' he wrote. He challenged Peter Freyd's claims that he had been misunderstood, that he merely had a 'ribald' sense of humour. 'Those of us who had to endure it, remember it as abusive at best and viciously sadistic at worst.' He added that, in his view, 'The False memory Syndrome Foundation is designed to deny a reality that Peter and Pam have spent most of their lives trying to escape.' He felt that there is no such thing as a false memory syndrome.' Criticising the media for its uncritical embrace of the Freyds' campaign, he cautioned: That the False Memory Syndrome Foundation has been able to excite so much media attention has been a great surprise to those of us who would like to admire and respect the objectivity and motive of people in the media. Neither Peter's mother nor his daughters, nor I have wanted anything to do with Peter and Pam for periods of time ranging up to two decades. We do not understand why you would 'buy' into such an obviously flawed story. But buy it you did, based on the severely biased presentation of the memory issue that Peter and Pam created to deny their own difficult reality. p14-14 Stolen Voices: An Exposure of the Campaign to Discredit Childhood Testimony

It's like being raised by wolves -- you don't realize you're not one yourself until someone points it out to you. Sometimes it makes me so mad that not everyone treats me just like another wolf.

It took us fifteen years to find each other, but we still did! And sometimes, family hurts each other. But after that's done you bandage each other up, and you move on. Together. You've got us now, like it or not, and we've got you.

It was a relief to see his father, who'd always been an unfailing source of reassurance and comfort. They clasped hands in a firm shake, and used their free arms to pull close for a moment. Such demonstrations of affection weren't common among fathers and sons of their rank, but then, they'd never been a conventional family. After a few hearty thumps on the back, Sebastian drew back and glanced over him with the attentive concern that hearkened to Gabriel's earliest memories. Not missing the traces of weariness on his face, his father lightly tousled his hair the way he had when he was a boy. "You haven't been sleeping." "I went carousing with friends for most of last night," Gabriel admitted. "It ended when we were all too drunk to see a hole through a ladder." Sebastian grinned and removed his coat, tossing the exquisitely tailored garment to a nearby chair. "Reveling in the waning days of bachelorhood, are we?" "It would be more accurate to say I'm thrashing like a drowning rat." "Same thing." Sebastian unfastened his cuffs and began to roll up his shirtsleeves. An active life at Heron's Point, the family estate in Sussex, had kept him as fit and limber as a man half his age. Frequent exposure to the sunlight had gilded his hair and darkened his complexion, making his pale blue eyes startling in their brightness. While other men of his generation had become staid and settled, the duke was more vigorous than ever, in part because his youngest son was still only eleven. The duchess, Evie, had conceived unexpectedly long after she had assumed her childbearing years were past. As a result there were eight years between the baby's birth and that of the next oldest sibling, Seraphina. Evie had been more than a little embarrassed to find herself with child at her age, especially in the face of her husband's teasing claims that she was a walking advertisement of his potency. And indeed, there have been a hint of extra swagger in Sebastian's step all through his wife's last pregnancy. Their fifth child was a handsome boy with hair the deep auburn red of an Irish setter. He'd been christened Michael Ivo, but somehow the pugnacious middle name suited him more than his given name. Now a lively, cheerful lad, Ivo accompanied his father nearly everywhere.

It was kind of funny—the thing that had annoyed me so much about him in the beginning was what I dearly appreciated now.