Whatever it is I'm born to do, my fear of failing at it has almost become greater than my desire to figure out what it is.
I now understand that writing fiction was a seed planted in my soul, though I would not be ready to grow that seed for a long time.
I wonder if that's the perennial story of writers: you find the true light, you lose the true light, you find it again. And maybe again.
Think for a minute, darling: in fairy tales it's always the children who have the fine adventures. The mothers have to stay at home and wait for the children to fly in the window.
I think about my mother singing after lunch on a Summer afternoon, twirling in blue dress across the floor of her dressing room
I don't want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.
that old Mrs. Bishop was lacking in the qualities that make a good mother. And saying it that way makes her sound a good deal better than she really was.
You have a mother?" His mouth quirked with humor. "Yep, and a father too! Every kid normally has one of each to begin with. He was teasing me in an affectionate way...
A miracle came in the form of a doctor whom her mother knew. He put her in a roasting pan and placed her above a fire to keep her warm.
Whereas Rosa’s lips were full and lush, her mother’s were thin and pinched in an expression that hinted at pain so long suppressed and hidden that in hiding from the world, the pain had become second nature.
They never tell you about that either. How the hardest thing a mother has to do is give her child up, let them go, watch them run.
My mother always says when you fight destiny, destiny fights back. Some things, they're just written in the stars. You can try but you can never escape what's meant to be.
People should be _very_ careful when choosing the future fathers and mothers of their children. For that reason alone, it is extremely mean to demand a marriage certificate for life, just for one night of embracement.
It’s not wise for me to extend a congratulatory handshake while your hands are busy clapping for me. I’ll wait for your applause to die down—or for my mother-in-law to die before we shake in friendship.
See, we're intellectual equals. I am as smart as your mother, and she is as smart as me. This is a problem. There's no pecking order. A relationship is like anything else. It needs a leader and a follower.
As for mother Eve - I wasn't there and can't deny the story, but I will say this. If she brought evil into the world, we men have had the lion's share of keeping it going ever since.
Gymnastics demands so much of our time. We train all week and travel and compete on weekends. The people you're surrounded by really become your second family, your best friends, your sisters. My coach was like a second mother for me.
My mother was a reporter, and though she quit when they had kids, she still loved it. She told me about the people at the paper and the articles she wrote. She had the best memory of anyone I know, and she could really tell a tale.
I wouldn't say my mother was my best friend, because that sounds odd, but we have a really tight bond and she is my friend on Facebook. Although she only goes on it to check up on me and sometimes we argue about it.
I called my mother up and I said, 'You know, I've been to the best doctors in the world and I've spent almost half a million dollars and they're telling me I have symptoms of a P.O.W. and all I did was grow up in your home.'
Bjorn was a different breed, I threw my best material at him, but he would never smile, but that added to the charm when he played me and Mac. We were going nuts and losing our mind and he was sitting back like he was on a Sunday stroll.
