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Quote by Gift Gugu Mona

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Coming to Grips with the Mountains and Valleys of This World

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Gift Gugu Mona

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“My one-year-old walks up to me with arms outstretched. I can see it in his eyes. He is searching for something: approval, affirmation, acceptance. The kind that only a father can give. He is hungry for a father's love, for the Father's love. Either the laughter in my eyes, the smile on my face, and the strength and tenderness of my arms will tell the truth about God, or their absence will blaspheme the Father of lights. My son is reaching for me, and looking for God. My son, the theologian.”

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Book:The Things of Earth: Treasuring God by Enjoying His Gifts
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“One day the sun had come back over the Forest, bringing with it the scent of May, and all the streams of the Forest were tinkling happily to find themselves their own pretty shape again, and the little pools lay dreaming of the life they had seen and the big things they had done, and in the warmth and quiet of the Forest the cuckoo was trying over his voice carefully and listening to see if he liked it, and wood-pigeons were complaining gently to themselves in their lazy comfortable way that it was the other fellow’s fault, but it didn’t matter very much; on such a day as this Christopher Robin whistled in a special way he had, and Owl came flying out of the Hundred Acre Wood to see what was wanted.”

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“Kat looked at them as they spoke, wanting to say something. She'd told me often enough that the nursery wasn't without its problems. It wasn't all singing and painting rainbows. But she believed that children were innocent parrots of their mothers' and fathers' prejudices. Wickedness wasn't innate. Well, she hadn't seen what Lennie Sturzaker used to do to me. No, some children are like pigs in a wood. Weaknesses to them are as pungent as truffles.”

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Book:Devil's Day
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“Adesso al check-in, alla domanda "corridoio o finestrino?", rispondo "ovunque, purché non sia vicino a un bambini" e la hostess di terra, vittima anch'ella dietro il suo sorriso, mi guarda con comprensione. Entrambe siamo consapevoli che non c'è alcuna possibilità che una creatura di tre anni non rompa i coglioni a nessuno per la durata di un volo di nove ore e ogni mammina che imbarca un pargolo questo lo sa benissimo. È lei a mettere in conto che, in nome della presunta tenerezza che dovrebbe ispirare il suo bambino, le persone che incontrerà sopporteranno senza lamentarsi una quota di molestie che non hanno scelto. Questo tipo di mammina si incazza quando l'attesa tolleranza non si manifesta e cerca di ribaltare il piano delle cose. Diventa giudicante. Stizzita dice: "Ma è un bambini", come fosse il suo lasciapassare per imporlo al mondo. Lo vedo anch'io che è un bambino, dannata mammina, ma è proprio la ragione per cui non dovrebbe essere qui, tra adulti che non hanno e non vogliono bambini o che li hanno responsabilmente affidati ad altre persone pagate per subirli, invece che pretendere che i presenti di un intero ristorante, di un aereo o di uno scompartimento si imprivvisino gratis puericultrici, nonni e babysitter del tuo pargolo irrequieto.”

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Book:Tre ciotole
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