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Parents Quotes

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Parents Quotes

“The parents have all been posting up a storm, of course. At one point the previous day we'd all compared embarrassing "Can you believe she's looking at colleges?/tearful emoji" posts, to which all their friends added shocked faces and commented on the passage of time, yawn. Some of them went for the comparison post (Here's a picture of little Wanda in her Dorothy costume at four, here she is at sixteen; Oh my god I feel so old because this rite of passage is about me, not the one actually passaging) ...”

“They had argued a lot, but then suddenly they stopped fighting and began speaking calmly to each other, like they were strangers. That’s when I knew something was really wrong. Mo eventually explained that she and my father were simply different peas meant to live in separate pods. You would think two adults could figure that out before they got married and had kids.”

“A parent-child combo might pop up at the crest of the old country road, wan and wary, and Mark Spitz shrank from these, no matter how well outfitted they were. Parenthood made grown-ups unpredictable. They hesitated at the key moment out of consideration for their kid’s abilities or safety, they were paranoid he wanted to rape or eat their offspring, they slowed him down with their baby steps or kept him distracted as he pondered their erraticism. They were worse than the bandits, who only wanted your stuff and sometimes managed to take it, on the spot, or at gunpoint later when the opportunity presented itself, when you were sleeping or taking a piss. The parents were dangerous because they didn’t want your precious supplies. They possessed the valuables, and it hobbled their reasoning.”

“Doing, doing, doing!’ cries the teenager. ‘Why do I have to do anything anyway?!’ Here, the adult is usually stuck for an answer. They know the usual answer, (you have to work to live) but the teen knows the reality… their parents are miserable from doing exactly this. Which is why, God has to come first... because that’s where freedom is.”

“505 The first seminary, the first formation program, the first college is the Catholic family. No director, however talented or skilled, can replace parents. If this most fundamental unit breaks down, the future of the Church and of human society becomes shaky and risks collapse. On the day he turned fifty, Pope John XXIII wrote in a letter to his parents, “Dear Mom and Dad, today I have reached fifty years of age. God has given me many positions in the Church, I have been to many places, I have studied much, but no school has given me more instruction or has been more beneficial to me than that which I received when I sat on your laps.”

“И ми се иска да кажа на всички, които имат още майки и бащи, обичайте ги, докато са живи, и непременно им го кажете. Непременно! Защото утре може да е вече късно и думите за благодарност и за обич, които не сте им казали, ще заседнат, тежки и горчиви, във вашите гърди и няма да има земна сила да ги махне! - Докато са живи”

“Alec didn’t recognize the woman, but he recognized that tone of voice. He knew how it was to lay claim to what you loved, a§ the more insistently because people doubted the love that belonged to you. Alec wasn’t sure what to say, so he did one of his favorite things. He produced his phone and found a rea§y good picture, walked up to the dais, and showed it to them both. “›is is my son, Max.”

“We want desperately to believe that every mother falls in love with her baby at first sight and that the complexity of relationships, so evident elsewhere as part of the human condition, is totally absent from the connection between mother and child.”

“She realized that all her life the teachings of those early days have influenced me and the example set by father and mother has been something I have tried to follow, which failures here and there, with rebellion at times, but always coming back to it as the compass needle to the star, -Laura Ingalls Wilder, 'As A Farm Woman Thinks.' Missouri Ruralist, August 1, 1923; Farm Journalist, p. 290.”

“PAPA", it's not only a name but an identity with our name. "PAPA" is not only our strength but a deep motivation from a very honest and hard-worker person, who used to struggle every single minute for our successful life. "PAPA" is a shop, where we can buy all the materials without any cost related to our needs and desires. "PAPA" is the name of a Prophet, who has been sent for us. "PAPA" is the only reason for our existence. It's only "PAPA" and his divine personality, who sacrificed his whole life, his youth, his time, his desires and his ambitions only for us. It's request from a very bewildered son for a good deal of mankind that don't even try to snatch the smile of that divine face, don't make them too muffled, don't let them to face those flopped and rumble attitudes. If you're too groggy for their happiness, then let them with their own sorrows and temptations.”

“The same spiritual principle applies to all of us: are we not now ashamed of things from our own past which at the time never troubled our conscience? If our children only hear lectures about wearing this and that, and never hear about how we acquire the grace of God, what will inspire them to remain Orthodox? They will look elsewhere if they have a spiritual quest. We must see the hearts of our teenagers and not only the outward appearance, however outrageous we may find it.”

“She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes- her eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green- exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harry's did. Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection. "Mom?" he whispered. "Dad?" They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobbly knees- Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life. The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.”

“Aren’t there any traits in your daughters – at least some – which you don’t really like and are against your own principles? Yet, will that affect your love towards your daughters? They’re our children, Gunther, our treasure, how can we ever hate them for whatever they do? We might get sad, might cry, might even hate our own selves, but we can never hate those little diamonds of our blood, or else, we are no longer to be called parents.”

“Лена очень любила дочь, обожала, как она поет, только если это были чужие песни. А в песнях Веры Лена вместо слов слышала: «Я ничего не читала, даже из школьной программы, я путаю одеть – надеть, я ставлю ударения, как мне удобнее, господи, я слегка переделала “Лавину” Коэна, но никто этого не заметит, потому что у него песня печальная, а у меня слегка в мажоре и гораздо выше, у меня очень маленький словарный запас, но зато я пою с душой и про любовь, а чтобы никто не забыл, что я пою с душой и про любовь, у меня в каждой песне буквально все утыкано словами “душа” и “любовь”».”

“Is this about my birth parents?" The frown lines on her mother's forehead deepened. "Well, yes..." "Did Freya know them?" Anna asked. She'd always wondered. Freya had been such a big part of her life since the beginning. Maybe Freya had known something Anna didn't. Silence hung over the room as they stared at one another. "It's okay," Anna finally said. "If you know who they are and don't want to tell me, I'll understand. It doesn't matter anyway." She reached for their hands. "You've been the best parents anyone could ever hope for." Papa and Ma reached in for a hug at the same time. They were a family of huggers and laughters. Anna clung to them, not wanting to let go.”

“Mothers are artists, in their way, wouldn’t you say? They’re like symphony conductors of entire lives. They’re painters or sculptors. And not only is it really hard to shape clay into something really good, but that piece of clay is changing dramatically, all the time, even if you never touch it. A painting won’t get painted if you just leave the canvas alone but a child will still develop into something even if you neglect it. Each mom and each dad has to adapt to what they’re trying to make, hoping to make, and Mom and Dad also have to let that child turn into the creation he or she wants to be. Oh, and then lots and lots of moms and dads have to do this with two or three separate creations, simultaneously. Or, in the case of you, Ora Zella, with eleven creations. How is that not way more impressive than anything a great painter does? Picasso, Shmicasso.”

“My parents were going out to dinner when I was six or so, and before they left, I felt instantly desperate and went to the bathroom and grabbed my mom's lipstick and put red dots all over my body and then begged them not to go. "I have chicken pox, you can't leave," I said. I remember they both laughed and laughed and then they left. And I cried and couldn't stop. They laughed at me like a was a wacky little child pulling a wacky stunt: kids say the darnedest things, etc. But I think about that night all the time, that little kid desperate for someone to love her, take care of her, spend any time at all with her, make her feel connected to literally anyone or anything and they just laughed. And left.”