“Ordinary mortals can't create Paradise. We can, however, strive for Utopia. Never mind that we haven't quite gotten there yet. We're working on it.”
Source: Is It Utopia Yet?: An Insider's View of Twin Oaks Community in Its Twenty-Sixth Year
“Perfectionist parents seem to operate under the illusion that if they can just get their children to be perfect, they will be a perfect family. They put the burden of stability on the child to avoid facing the fact that they, as parents, cannot provide it. The child fails and becomes the scapegoat for family problems. Once again, the child is saddled with the blame.”
Source: Toxic Parents: Overcoming Their Hurtful Legacy and Reclaiming Your Life
“Don’t you just love children? If they’re not disappointing you, they’re dead.”
Source: The Penitent Assassin
“Some of these [hovering and oversupervising] parents may think that making sure their children do whatever it takes to succeed in advance courses helps their children develop "grit." But grit is often misunderstood as perseverance without passion, and that's tragic... Perseverance without passion is mere drudgery.”
Source: The Coddling of the American Mind: How Good Intentions and Bad Ideas Are Setting up a Generation for Failure
“Daddy, I want to be a pop singer when I grow up.’ There, it’s out, I’ve dared to voice my dream, to say it out loud. Dad is the only adult I know who has some interest in music, even if it is Petula Clark, and now I've told him, I've taken the first step towards making my dream real. Dad will know what to do, how to get me started, point me in the right direction.
'You're not chic enough.' I don't know what the word chic means but I know what he means. I understand from the tone of his voice that I'm having ideas about myself that are way above my looks, capabilities and charms, and I believe him. He must be right, he’s my father.
Dad and I walk along in silence. I think, He didn’t ask me if I can sing - but obviously that doesn’t matter. I’m just not chic enough.”
Source: Clothes, Clothes, Clothes. Music, Music, Music. Boys, Boys, Boys
“... Our language, tiger, our language: hundreds of thousands of available words, frillions of legitimate new ideas... And yet, oh, and yet, we, all of us, spend all our days saying to each other the same things time after weary time: "I love you," "Don't go in there," "Get out," "You have no right to say that," "Stop it," "Why should I," "That hurt," "Help," "Marjorie is dead.”
“Oh, I play this rather defeated father and husband who's going through a divorce.'
'You!' the actor is unable or unwilling to hide the contempt, outrage and disapproval in his voice. 'What the hell would you know about that?'
I grin tightly and move on. So I should be playing nothing but celibate gay men? Is that how acting works?”
Source: The Fry Chronicles
“Don’t let anyone ever tell you that you aren’t strong enough, or brave enough, or pretty enough, because you are all those things and more. Every one of them. You want to know how I know that? Because you are made in God’s image, and along with His likeness, we are also given strength, and courage, and beauty. So when those people come to you spouting trash, just let it go, because we know the sweet truth about how wonderful and amazing God created us to be.”
“My mother calls it the pretty hate.
It comes on you like a fever when someone you love up and leaves you with nothing but silence. You turn the hate on yourself as you cannibalize your heart while the rage burns through you and polishes your desperation into a diamond. It is one of the cruelest things in the world to do to another human being.
Don’t do that.”
Source: Pretty Hate
“Should I stop?” he said.
I heard voices from far away and he stopped moving his fingers. I grabbed his wrist and pressed his hand into me.
“Please,” I said, “please don’t stop.”
“Oh, so I shouldn’t?” he said and chuckled. “That would be cruel of me, wouldn’t it?”
I felt such pressurized pain, the tingle turned to a cold numb that made me shake.
“Yes,” I said and stared into his eyes, “and you’re not cruel, are you?”
He bit the side of my neck and nibbled on my earlobe as he breathed heavily into my ear.
“I am the cruelest man you will ever meet, Beth,” he said into my ear, “but, I will make you feel so good, you will not care.”
I stared into Declan’s eyes and knew that he told the truth. And just like he said, I did not care.
His fingers went back to work and I felt as if I was being dragged out to sea by this incredible undertow. It did not matter that I was drowning or in the company of the cruelest man in the world. I only cared how he made me feel and, at that moment, I never felt better.”
Source: Pretty Hate