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Grandma Quotes

Browse 336 quotes about Grandma.

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Grandma Quotes

“Nukuu ya mwandishi wa vitabu wa Brazili, Paulo Coelho, "Tunapopenda tunajitahidi siku zote kuwa wazuri zaidi kuliko jinsi sisi wenyewe tulivyo. Tunapojitahidi kuwa wazuri zaidi kuliko jinsi sisi wenyewe tulivyo, kila kitu katika maisha yetu kinakuwa kizuri hali kadhalika.", inadhihirisha kikamilifu tabia ambayo bibi yangu (Martha Maregesi) alijitahidi kuwa nayo katika kipindi cha maisha yake yote. Alikuwa mtu mwenye furaha sana. Alikuwa na tabasamu lenye kuambukiza ambalo marafiki na familia yake hawakuweza kujizuia kutabasamu pia alipofurahi nao. Pamoja na kwamba alikumbana na matatizo mengi na bahati mbaya nyingi katika maisha yake, alijulikana kama mtu mwenye upendo na uvumilivu mkubwa.”

LoveLifeHappinessAttitudeFamilyFriendsQuotePerseveranceSmileAuthorGrandmotherGrandmaBrazilFamiliaHardshipsMaishaSetbacksPaulo CoelhoMatatizoUpendoFurahaTabiaMarafikiBibiUvumilivuTabasamuBahati MbayaMartha MaregesiNukuuBraziliContagious SmileMwandishi Wa VitabuTabasamu Lenye Kuambukiza
Author:Enock Maregesi
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“Lara Jean, promise me you won’t let her get her hooks in Daddy. He doesn’t know the first thing about dating in the twenty-first century, and she’ll just eat him alive. He needs to be with someone mature, someone with wisdom in her eyes.” I snort. “Like who? A grandma? If so, I know a few from Belleview I could set him up with.”

WisdomDatingGrandmaTwenty First CenturyMs RothschildBelleviewDaniel CoveyTrina Rothschild
Book:To All the Boys I've Loved Before
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“He greeted me in his usual attire - pajama pants. "Hey stranger!" he said, hugging me for a few long seconds. "I've already set up the board. Can I get you some rose" I nodded, overwhelmingly relieved to be with another human being - even if he was really a wolf in grandma's clothing. Or was he just a wolf in wolf's clothing? After all, he wore pajamas... Hmmm. I contemplated all this as he poured me a glass of wine. "Mind if I smoke?" he asked as he lit up a joint and motioned me over to the sleek brown couch. Italian, of course. Through the three windows that faced south, north, and west, I saw the Statue of Liberty, and Ellis Island, where I had paid to have my parents' names inscribed in the immigrant wall of honor. Some American Dream this was!”

SexDatingGrandmaWolfStatue Of LibertyEllis IslandImmigrant Values
Book:The Many Loves of Mila
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“When I told my boss that I was coming here, you know what he said? He said, if it's just stage one cancer, then why do you have to go? And for a split second I almost agreed with him. Because that's what I've trained myself to do... And then I thought, wait a minute. Why does my mother have to be on her fucking deathbed before I go? Why do people have to die or almost die before we decide we need to make things right? So that's why I came. Because I should have come sooner and I wasn't going to wait until later.”

LoveCareFamilyHealthGrandma
Book:Wild Card
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“The Everlasting Staircase" Jeffrey McDaniel When the call came, saying twenty-four hours to live, my first thought was: can't she postpone her exit from this planet for a week? I've got places to do, people to be. Then grief hit between the ribs, said disappear or reappear more fully. so I boarded a red eyeball and shot across America, hoping the nurses had enough quarters to keep the jukebox of Grandma's heart playing. She grew up poor in Appalachia. And while world war II functioned like Prozac for the Great Depression, she believed poverty was a double feature, that the comfort of her adult years was merely an intermission, that hunger would hobble back, hurl its prosthetic leg through her window, so she clipped, clipped, clipped -- became the Jacques Cousteau of the bargain bin, her wetsuit stuffed with coupons. And now --pupils fixed, chin dangling like the boots of a hanged man -- I press my ear to her lampshade-thin chest and listen to that little soldier march toward whatever plateau, or simply exhaust his arsenal of beats. I hate when people ask if she even knew I was there. The point is I knew, holding the one-sided conversation of her hand. Once I believed the heart was like a bar of soap -- the more you use it, the smaller it gets; care too much and it'll snap off in your grasp. But when Grandma's last breath waltzed from that room, my heart opened wide like a parachute, and I realized she didn't die. She simply found a silence she could call her own.”

HeartDeathPoetryGrandmaParachuteThe Everlasting Staircase
Author:Jeffrey McDaniel
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“Trailing veils of steam, Grandma came and went and came again with covered dishes from kitchen to table while the assembled company waited in silence. No one lifted lids to peer in at the hidden victuals. At last Grandma sat down, Grandpa said grace, and immediately thereafter the silverware flew up like a plague of locusts on the air. When everyone's mouths were absolutely crammed full of miracles, Grandmother sat back and said, "Well, how do you like it?" And the relatives, including Aunt Rose, and the boarders, their teeth deliciously mortared together at this moment, faced a terrible dilemma. Speak and break the spell, or continue allowing this honey-syrup food of the gods to dissolve and melt away to glory in their mouths? They looked as if they might laugh or cry at the cruel dilemma. They looked as if they might sit there forever, untouched by fire or earthquake, or shooting in the street, a massacre of innocents in the yard, overwhelmed with effluviums and promises of immortality. All villains were innocent in this moment of tender herbs, sweet celeries, luscious roots. The eye sped over a snow field where lay fricassees, salmagundis, gumbos, freshly invented succotashes, chowders, ragouts.”

FoodCookingDinnerGrandmaSpeechless
Book:Dandelion Wine
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“The end. I want to tell her this isn't her fault. My decision, my consequences. I've heard her say those words. She'll understand. I want to tell her I'm sorry I couldn't get her out of this mess. I'm sorry I won't be there to see the boy she marries, the family she raise. I'm sorry. But the only word that leaves me is, 'live.' The second king's grip keeps me upright. He squeezes my hands. 'She loved you, and my hope is that you will heed her desire to live well, Ten. Live well.”

DeathTearsSadGrandmaLifeblood
Author:Gena Showalter
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“To all those who care, You can't forever. Time steals the years, And your reflection in the mirror. But I can still see the story in your eyes, And your timeless passion that’s never died. While your skin became tired, Your heart became strong, The present became the past, And your memories like a song. And though the moment at hand is all that we have, You’ve taught me to live it like it is our last. Since two words don't say ‘thank you’ the way they are meant to, I'll try all my life to be something like you.”

LifeFeelingsLife LessonsEmotionFamilySacrificeGratefulLegacyGrandmotherGrandmaGratefulnessHerLineageGranddaughterPaternal
Book:Write like no one is reading 2
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“At one-thirty in the deep dark morning, the cooking odors blew up through the windy corridors of the house. Down the stairs, one by one, came women in curlers, men in bathrobes, to tiptoe and peer into the kitchen- lit only by fitful gusts of red fire from the hissing stove. And there in the black kitchen at two of a warm summer morning, Grandma floated like an apparition, amidst bangings and clatterings, half blind once more, her fingers groping instinctively in the dimness, shaking out spice clouds over bubbling pots and simmering kettles, her face in the firelight red, magical, and enchanted as she seized and stirred and poured the sublime foods. Quiet, quiet, the boarders laid the best linens and gleaming silver and lit candles rather than switch on electric lights and snap the spell. Grandfather, arriving home from a late evening's work at the printing office, was startled to hear grace being said in the candlelit dining room. As for the food? The meats were deviled, the sauces curried, the greens mounded with sweet butter, the biscuits splashed with jeweled honey; everything toothsome, luscious, and so miraculously refreshing that a gentle lowing broke out as from a pasturage of beasts gone wild in clover. One and all cried out their gratitude for their loose-fitting night clothes.”

CookingGrandmaFeastLate Night Supper
Book:Dandelion Wine
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“When I was suddenly thrust into what everyone calls menopause (Orchids) earlier than my body planned, I decided someone needed to take charge on so many levels. It was time to not only change the vernacular, but to speak up and say "Hey! This isn't an old lady's disease! We aren't old! We are strong and dammit, we are beautiful and sexy too!”

DiseaseAgingGrandmaHormonesOld LadyMenopauseAging GracefullyOrchidsGrand MotherChange Of LifeHormonal Issues
Book:Getting Over Your Ovaries: How to Make 'The Change of Life' Your Bitch
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“A glowing manta ray swam through the dark sea, radiating wicks of iridescent blue. The manta ray shimmered as it floated toward Moana--- the very same one that had guided her out of the reef back home. Its wings glided gracefully though the water, reminding her of a dancer until it dove under, robbing Moana of her view. "You are a long ways past the reef," a voice murmured softly. Perched beside Maui's stone figure was her grandmother's spirit, wearing a sad smile. "Gramma?" A familiar sly look flitted across the spirit's face, wrinkling her white brows. She tilted her head toward the manta tattoo on her back. "Guess I chose the right tattoo. "Gramma!" Moana shouted, running into the spirit's arms. She hugged her tight as a strange cold eased into her, breezing over her skin where she touched her gramma's spirit. But she ignored it, pressing her face into her gramma's neck, inhaling notes of her familiar coconut oil aroma. She'd always rubbed it along her skin and worn it in her hair, along with the red hibiscus she gathered.”

SpiritGrandmaMoanaManta Ray
Book:How Far I'll Go
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“Taabini hii ni ngumu sana kwangu kuandika pamoja na kwamba ni miaka mitatu kamili toka giza liingie. Mwaka 2014, Novemba 4, nilimpoteza bibi yangu mpendwa, Martha Maregesi, aliyefariki dunia kutokana na ukongo wa kiharusi, na tutamkumbuka daima. Alikuwa na roho ya kipekee; na kifo chake kiliwagusa wengi, pamoja na kwamba aliishi maisha kamili, zaidi ya siku 25550, siku 5110 zaidi, ambazo ndizo tulizopangiwa na Mungu. Mapenzi ya mtu kwa bibi yake ni mapenzi ya kipekee. Nadhani Mungu aliwapa mabibi wote uwezo maalumu wa kuwapenda wajukuu zao, na kufanya maisha yao yatimie, kuwafanya wawe binadamu wazuri na wenye maadili mema. Alichangia pakubwa katika malezi yangu ya utotoni; na aghalabu naweza kukumbuka nikiwa naye jikoni akipika, huku mimi nikifanya kazi nyingine, lakini wakati huohuo akinifundisha mambo kadha wa kadha ya kunikomaza kimaisha. Bibi hakuwa tu bibi. Alikuwa mlezi, rafiki na mtu aliyenihamasisha sana katika maisha. Kifo kinaleta huzuni lakini kinaleta tumaini. Naamini bibi yangu atakwenda mbinguni, kwa sababu naamini alitubu dhambi zake akisaidiwa na wachungaji. Wachungaji hao walimtembelea kila siku, nyumbani au hospitalini, akiwa kitandani kwake akiugua. Bibi yangu alitimiza wajibu wake. Alizaliwa, aliishi, na alikufa katika toba. Siku nitakapokufa ningependa kuzikwa jirani na alipozikwa bibi yangu, ili Yesu atakaporudi tufufuke pamoja.”

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Author:Enock Maregesi
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“But my own style, I'd say, is more homestyle, with Jewish influences? Not kosher cooking; that's a different thing. I'm inspired by traditional Jewish cuisine." Paper rustled on the other end. "Right, the matzah ball ramen you cooked in your video looked fantastic. We were all drooling in the room!" I perked up. Forgot that I was naked. Forgot that lately I was a walking disaster. "That's one of my go-tos and will definitely be on my future menu. I've been experimenting lately with putting a spin on kugels..." As I chattered on, I could practically see my grandma shaking her head at me. Grandma Ruth had cooked up a storm for every Passover, Yom Kippur, and Chanukah, piling her table till it groaned with challah rolls, beef brisket in a ketchup-based sauce, and tomato and cucumber salad so fresh and herby and acidic it could make you feel like summer in the middle of winter.”

InspirationalGrandmaCuisineFusionPersonal StyleJewish Food
Book:Sadie on a Plate
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“Read this mental healing and strengthening book to your beloved grandpa/grandma and strengthen your family bonding in Christ. Help them to find their way in this life. Help them from being lost in the mind and ways through dementia. If your grandparents can still read, bless them with this salvation from Alzheimers healing book as a gift from you. Tell grandma she is your best friend and anounce to grumpy grandpa that he is your good and inspiring friend whom you love so dearly. This Holy Spirit breathed book allows you to feel strongly that parenting does not stop at all. When you have old grandparents, you are a parent at any age through your love for them.”

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Book:Grandma/Grandpa Be Healed From Alzheimer's Disease: Salvation From Neurological Disseases
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“I call this our Thursday special. We have it regularly." This was a lie. In all the years not one single dish resembled another. Was this one from the deep green sea? Had that one been shot from blue summer air? Was it a swimming food or a flying food, had it pumped blood or chlorophyll, had it walked or leaned after the sun? No one knew. No one asked. No one cared. The most people did was stand in the kitchen door and peer at the baking-powder explosions, enjoy the clangs and rattles and bangs like a factory gone wild where Grandma stared half blindly about, letting her fingers find their way among canisters and bowls. Was she conscious of her talent? Hardly. If asked about her cooking, Grandma would look down at her hands which some glorious instinct sent on journeys to be gloved in flour, or to plumb disencumbered turkeys, wrist-deep in search of their animal souls. Her gray eyes blinked from spectacles warped by forty years of oven blasts and blinded with strewings of pepper and sage, so she sometimes flung cornstarch over steaks, amazingly tender, succulent steaks! And sometimes dropped apricots into meat loaves, cross-pollinated meats, herbs, fruits, vegetables with no prejudice, no tolerance for recipe or formula, save that at the final moment of delivery, mouths watered, blood thundered in response. Her hands then, like the hands of Great-grandma before her, were Grandma's mystery, delight, and life. She looked at them in astonishment, but let them live their life the way they must absolutely lead it.”

TalentCookingGrandmaUnspokenSupperMystery Meat
Book:Dandelion Wine
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“Steven’s words slush together as he gets to his feet. “Crossing this one off the bucket list.” Then he unbuckles his belt and grabs the waist of his pants—yanking the suckers down to his ankles—tighty whities and all. Every guy in the car holds up his hands to try to block the spectacle. We groan and complain. “My eyes! They burn!” “Put the boa constrictor back in his cage, man.” “This is not the ass I planned on seeing tonight.” Our protests fall on deaf ears. Steven is a man on a mission. Wordlessly, he squats and shoves his lilywhite ass out the window—mooning the gaggle of grannies in the car next to us. I bet you thought this kind of stuff only happened in movies. He grins while his ass blows in the wind for a good ninety seconds, ensuring optimal viewage. Then he pulls his slacks up, turns around, and leans out the window, laughing. “Enjoying the full moon, ladies?” Wow. Steven usually isn’t the type to visually assault the elderly. Without warning, his crazy cackling is cut off. He’s silent for a beat, then I hear him choke out a single strangled word. “Grandma?” .... Matthew and I wave and smile and in fourth-grader-like, singsong harmony call out, “Hi, Mrs. Reinhart.” She shakes one wrinkled fist in our direction. Then her poofy-haired companion in the backseat flips us the bird. I’m pretty sure it’s the funniest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen. The two of us collapse back into our seats, laughing hysterically.”

VegasGrandmaSteven
Book:Tied
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“Grandma, he had often wanted to say, Is this where the world began? For surely it had begun in no other than a place like this. The kitchen, without doubt, was the center of creation, all things revolved about it; it was the pediment that sustained the temple. Eyes shut to let his nose wander, he snuffed deeply. He moved in the hell-fire steams and sudden baking-powder flurries of snow in this miraculous climate where Grandma, with the look of the Indies in her eyes and the flesh of two warm hens in her bodice, Grandma of the thousand arms, shook, basted, whipped, beat, minced, diced, peeled, wrapped, salted, stirred. Blind, he touched his way to the pantry door. A squeal of laughter rang from the parlor, teacups tinkled. But he moved on into the cool underwater green and wild-persimmon country where the slung and hanging odor of creamy bananas ripened silently and bumped his head. Gnats fizzed angrily about vinegar cruets and his ears. He opened his eyes. He saw bread waiting to be cut into slices of warm summer cloud, doughnuts strewn like clown hoops from some edible game. The faucets turned on and off in his cheeks. Here on the plum-shadowed side of the house with maple leaves making a creek-water running in the hot wind at the window he read spice-cabinet names.”

KitchenBakingGrandmaPantry
Book:Dandelion Wine
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“Did you say all that you meant to Before the curtain closed? Or did you feel so much more Than we'll ever know? You were an amazing person; One of the very best. You were here for part of my story; I wish you could hear the rest. I miss your smile most; The smile you had for all. Now I can only see it In pictures on the wall.”

LovePainDeathLossGriefFamilyGoneForeverSadnessMissingSorrowSmileStoryFeelingBestPersonKnowFeelGrandmaEndingAmazingHear
Book:The Words
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