Aaron And His Parents Quotes

I'll take another stab at talking to her."
"If you can't find a way, get Cooper to do it. You know how he loves controlling things. I'm sure he'll want to help."
"True, but once he starts meddling, he won't stop. I don't need him giving me pointers for the rest of my relationship with Lark."
"Lark," my mother said, testing out the name. "She had such a sweet smile. I could look at that smile for the rest of my life. Yes, go kick fate in the balls and get me a daughter."
"You have a daughter."
"A new one, I meant. Preferably one who likes to visit more than Anna."
Grinning at the thought of my alpha chick sister, I finished my juice and stood up. "I'll focus on a first date then worry about getting you a more compliant daughter. ~ Bijou Hunter

LOUIS SACHAR is the author of the New York Times #1 bestseller Holes, winner of the Newbery Medal, the National Book Award, and the Christopher Award. He is also the author of Stanley Yelnats' Survival Guide to Camp Green Lake; Small Steps, winner of the Schneider Family Book Award; and The Cardturner, a Publishers Weekly Best Book, a Parents' Choice Gold Award recipient, and an ALA-YALSA Best Fiction for Young Adults book. His books for younger readers include There's a Boy in the Girls' Bathroom, The Boy Who Lost His Face, Dogs Don't Tell Jokes, and the Marvin Redpost series, among many others. ~ Louis Sachar

One of my big revelations was that nobody cares whether you write your novel or not. They want you to be happy. Your parents want you to have health insurance. Your friends want you to be a good friend. But everyone's thinking about their own problems and nobody wakes up in the morning thinking, 'Boy, I sure hope Sam finishes that chapter and gets one step closer to his dream of being a working writer.' Nobody does that. If you want to write, it has to come from you. If you don't want to write, that's great. Go do something else. That was a very liberating moment for me. ~ Sam Lipsyte

The frantic search of five-year-olds for friends can thus be seen to forecast the beginnings of a basic shift in the parent-childrelationship, a shift which will occur gradually over many long years, and in which a child needs not only the support of child allies engaged in the same struggle but also the understanding of his parents. ~ Dorothy H Cohen

My parents inspire me every day. They are both incredible people that I love and look up to every day. Industry wise, I love what Justin Timberlake has done with his career. He's truly an idol to me, not only as a performer, but as a person as well. ~ Max Schneider

It took Aaron a minute to find his voice again. He still sounded angry, but there was a muted edge to his, "You wouldn't even look at me. You wouldn't say a word to me unless I said something first. I'm not psychic. How was I supposed to know?" "Because I made you a promise," Andrew said. "I did not forget it just because you chose not to believe me. I did what I said I would do, and fuck you for expecting anything else." There it was again: a hint of that infinite anger at Andrew's core. Aaron opened his mouth, closed it again, and dropped his eyes. Andrew stared at his brother's bowed head for an endless minute. Aaron had given up the fight, but every passing second seemed to put more tension in Andrew's frame. Neil watched Andrew's fingers curl against his thighs, not into fists but a mimicry of crushing the life from someone, and knew Andrew's temper was nearing a breaking point. He put his hand up between them, trying to block Andrew's view of Aaron, and Andrew cut a vicious look at him. A heartbeat later Andrew's expression went dead. Neil regretted his intervention immediately. No one could let go of that much rage that easily; Andrew had simply buried it where it could hurt only him. It was too late to take it back, so Neil dropped his hand to his lap in defeat. ~ Nora Sakavic

A child conceived on Christmas Eve is considered unlucky and will later resent his parents for their unholy transgression, their lack of control and piety. The child may be deformed with a harelip or be cursed with the ears and head of a wolf. Or the infant may be born a werewolf. ~ Jody Shields

I always imagined rape as this violent scene of a woman walking alone down a dark alley and getting mugged and beaten by some masked criminal. Rape was an angry man forcing himself inside a damsel in distress. I would not carry the trauma of a cliché rape victim. I would not shriek in the midst of my slumber with night terrors. I would not tremble at the sight of every dark haired man or the mention of Number 1's name. I would not even harbor ill will towards him. My damage was like a cigarette addiction- subtle, seemingly innocent, but everlasting and inevitably detrimental.
Number 1 never opened his screen door to furious crowds waving torches and baseball bats. Nobody punched him out in my honor. The Nightfall crowd never socially ostracized him. Even the ex-boyfriend who'd second handedly fused the entire fiasco continued to mingle with him in drug circles. Everybody continued with business as usual. And when I told my parents I lost my virginity against my will, unconscious on a bathroom floor, Carl did not erupt in fury and demand I give him all I knew about his whereabouts so he could greet him with a rifle. Mom blankly shrugged and mumbled, "Oh, that's too bad," and drifted into the kitchen as if I'd received a stubbed toe rather than a shredded hymen.
Everyone in my life took my rape as lightly as a brief thunderstorm that might have been frightening when it happened, but was easy to forget about. I adopted that mentality as the foundation of my sex life ~ Maggie Georgiana Young

When I was young, it was never about finding love. Love was something you cultivated. Your parents picked your life partner. Romance never entered the equation until then. People didn't marry people. Families married families. Your father liked his father, or his grandmother played cards with your grandmother. That was how it started. Marriage was a garden that grew slowly. You only got one patch, so you worked hard at it. You planted the seeds, you watered them, you waited for things to bloom - love, respect, intimacy, connection. But things are different now. Everyone expects fruits and flowers right off the bat. When those are done, it gets plain and boring. Then it's time to move on to the next patch. Relationships are more disposable now. So many people, so many choices. I look at you, I look at Isabelle, and I see both the blessing and curse that freedom brings you - so much potential for happiness, so much pressure to realize it. ~ Leylah Attar

Parents naturally want their children to excel in every area of academics and extra-curricular activities, but the reality is- God made each child differently for His purpose. He never intended for our children to excel in everything. ~ Tamara L. Chilver

He tells my parents how I took every class he taught. He tells them, "You have a special boy here." Embarrassed, I look at my feet. Before we leave, I hand my professor a present, a tan briefcase with his initials on the front. I bought this the day before at a shopping mall. I didn't want to forget him. Maybe I didn't want him to forget me.
"Mitch, you are one of the good ones," he says, admiring the briefcase. Then he hugs me. I feel his thin arms around my back. I am taller than he is, and when he holds me, I feel awkward, older, as if I were the parent and he were the child.
He asks if I will stay in touch, and without hesitation I say, "Of course." When he steps back, I see that he is crying. ~ Mitch Albom

What are you looking to do?" Aaron asked as we walked into his workroom.
"Nothing too complicated," I said, displaying my wrist. "I want Bailey's name on my wrist."
Aaron exhaled slowly. "Are you sure? The Johanssons don't play when it comes having their women's names on their wrists. It's forever shit for them. That's how I knew Cooper wasn't fucking around with Farah."
"Bailey's mine, but I can't find a way to make her truly believe. When I try, it feels like just words. I know her name on my wrist is a word too, but maybe it's one that she'll know means forever."
"Fair enough. Just know once the Johansson boys see her name on your wrist, it's like you've gotten on one knee and proposed. Trust me that Bailey and Jodi will be talking wedding dates behind your back. If you lose interest or cheat or break it off, it's not going down softly. The shit will hit the fan."
"The only way Bailey gets rid of me is to put me in the ground. ~ Bijou Hunter

I think modern education over-emphasizes the intellect. I suppose that comes from the scientific trend of the times. You cannot obtain a useful citizen if you only develop his intellect. We take children from their parents because these cannot give them an intellectual training. So far, good. But we fail to give them that training in character which parents alone can give. Home influence, as Grace Aguilar conceived it where has it gone? It strikes me that this is a grave danger for the future. We are rearing up a brood of crafty egoists, a generation whose earliest recollections are those of getting something for nothing from the State.
I am inclined to trace our present social unrest to this over-valuation of the intellect. It hardens the heart and blights all generous impulses. What is going to replace the home, Mr. Keith? ~ Norman Douglas

You are going to have a nasty scar," I said as I gently held pressure to stop the bleeding.
"All true warriors wear their scars proudly," he mumbled. "How can I be proud of this one?"
I looked up at him, horrified, as I realized what he meant. "What will your parents say?" I would be sent to Siberia. My whole family would be exiled. If not executed.
He shook his head. "They will know about the count before too long. My father will think that I failed to protect the public from this danger. It is I who fear being sent to Siberia."
"But ... wait. I didn't express my fears out loud, did I?" I dropped his arm and backed away, suddenly spooked by his silvery faerie eyes. "Can you read my thoughts?"
"Sometimes, when I concentrate." He winced and grabbed the bandage from me to apply pressure to the bleeding himself. "You are very easy to read. Most of the time. ~ Robin Bridges

And what about for the first eight, ten years of his life, when loving parents encouraged his obsession with dragons and secret worlds and animals in vests who poured tea and drove motorcars and who gave him to read Tolkien and Susan Cooper and the Brothers Grimm and Madeleine L'Engle and C. S. Lewis? Is a boy supposed to leave his imagination on the side of the road when he boards the bus to manhood? ~ David Shafer

I always think about Katharine Graham - she was the publisher of The Washington Post. In her autobiography she talks about the way her parents met. Her father was, I think, in New York just walking by on his way home and looked into a store and saw the lady that became his wife. It was just pure luck. And she said that it once again reminds her of the role that luck and chance play in our life. I really believe that, too. ~ Owen Wilson

Christ, they'd be getting a cat next. He mentally recoiled from the idea: the day they did that, he'd cut off his dick and call himself a lesbian. ~ Kate Aaron

I'm not what you think I am, Aladdin! I will betray you, and I will hurt you, because that is what I am. Why do you think Nardukha rips souls from the living and creates jinnis? Why do you think he sends us into the world? To make your miserable dreams come true? To bring you happiness?" I laugh sourly. "He gives you the thing you want most and uses it to destroy you. Look at yourself. You're a prince. You have money, power, privilege. The chance to avenge your parents. And you're miserable."
Aladdin stares at me, and in his eyes is pity. "I've been making myself miserable my whole life," he says softly. "I convinced myself long ago that if I could get revenge on Sulifer, I could finally move on. That I could erase the memory of the day my parents died, when I held their severed heads and watched their blood run in the gutters. But as you say, here I am, a step away from that vengeance - and it has soured on my tongue. I don't want it anymore."
He sighs and looks up at the sky, as if searching for words among the stars. "You don't make me miserable, Zahra. I do that to myself, because I'm too weak, too afraid to admit that it isn't Sulifer I'm angry at - it's me. My parents were killed because of me. The day before they were executed, I was caught by the guards for stealing an earring, and when they found out who I was, Sulifer had me whipped until I told him where my parents were. And after they were dead, he gave me back the earring as payment for turning my mothe ~ Jessica Khoury

Other attempts appear as scars, weals, parentheses in conversation, absent days in his diary. But, at the same time, according to Stuart's weird sense of etiquette on such subjects, only one son in a family is allowed to kill himself, else it puts too much strain on the parents, and his brother, Gavvy, like Jacob in the Old Testament, has stolen Stuart's birthright. ~ Alexander Masters

The Road is not a record of fatherly fidelity; it is a testament to the abyss of a parent's greatest fears. The fear of leaving your child alone, of dying before your child has reached adulthood and learned to work the mechanisms and face the dangers of the world, or found a new partner to face them with. The fear of one day being obliged for your child's own good, for his peace and comfort, to do violence to him or even end his life. And, above all, the fear of knowing - as every parent fears - that you have left your children a world more damaged, more poisoned, more base and violent and cheerless and toxic, more doomed, than the one you inherited. It is in the audacity and single-mindedness with which The Road extends the metaphor of a father's guilt and heartbreak over abandoning his son to shift for himself in a ruined, friendless world that The Road finds its great power to move and horrify the reader. ~ Michael Chabon

Sir Ector looked into the fire, fidgeting with something in his pocket.
"I have something for you," he said at last. "It was your mother's." And he drew out the thing in his pocket and held it up to her.
The ring Blanche took from him was antique silver, cabochon-set with a glimmering moonstone. Her mother's ring! Blanche folded it into her hand and held tightly to the only thing her parents had left her. ~ Suzannah Rowntree

And an educated mind is nothing but the God-given mind of a child after his parents' and his grandparents' generation have got through molding it. We can't help teaching you; you will ask that of us; but we are prone to teach you what we know, and I am going, now and again, to warn you:
Remember we really don't know anything. Keep your baby eyes (which are the eyes of genius) on what we don't know. That is your playground, bare and graveled, safe and unbreakable. ~ Lincoln Steffens

No, of course not. He'd been so distant lately. He wasn't even looking at her. Instead, he was staring down at a playing card in his hands, folding it. Nothing strange about that. Like their parents, Rhys and his twin brother, Max, were always fiddling with some kind of magic trick. He was particularly fond of making coins disappear. Sometimes she wished he could make her crush on him disappear just as easily, but first she'd have to admit it to him. That was so never going to happen. She'd seen the types of girls he and Max were attracted to, and plain, chubby tomboys need not apply. ~ Virna DePaul

Flauvic was standing by the middle window, one slim hand resting on a golden latch. I realized that one window panel was, in fact, a door, and that a person could step through onto the rocks that just bordered the pool. Flauvic was looking down, the silvery light reflecting off rain clouds overhead, and water below throwing glints in his long golden hair.
He had to know I was there.
I said, "You do like being near to water, don't you?"
He looked up quickly. "Forgive me for not coming to the door," he said directly--for him. "I must reluctantly admit that I have been somewhat preoccupied with the necessity of regaining my tranquility."
I was surprised that he would admit to any such thing. "Not caused by me, I hope?" I walked across the fine tiled floor.
He lifted a hand in a gesture of airy dismissal. "Family argument," he said. Smiling a little, he added, "Forbearance is not, alas, a hallmark of the Merindar habit of mind."
Again I was surprised, for he seemed about as forbearing as anyone I'd ever met--but I was chary of appearing to be a flatterer, and so I said only, "I'm sorry for it, then. Ought I to go? If the family's peace has been cut up, I suppose a visitor won't be welcome."
Flauvic turned away from the window and crossed the rest of the floor to join me. "If you mean you'd rather not walk into my honored parent's temper--or more to the point, my sister's--fear not. They departed early this morning to our family's estates. I am q ~ Sherwood Smith

Aaron's mouth pulled tight. "You are free to leave anytime."

As soon as he said them, he regretted the words. Aaron kept his face blank, but the stricken look in her eyes stabbed him with guilt he was becoming more familiar with the longer they were together. Inwardly, Aaron cursed himself.

But he didn't back down. He couldn't. An alpha meant what he said in the moment he said it.

Rachael just stared at him for a long few seconds, seemingly unable to process what he'd just done. Then she turned her head and said stiffly, "You can have Holden here or you can have me. Not both. ~ Deidre Huesmann

So she told me a story. A story about a boy who was born with very green eyes, and the man who was so captivated by their color that he searched the world for a stone in exactly the same shade." His voice is fading now, falling into whispers so quiet I can hardly hear him. "She said the boy was me. That this ring was made from that very same stone, and that the man had given it to her, hoping one day she'd be able to give it to me. It was his gift, she said, for my birthday." He stops. Breathes. "And then she took it off, slipped it on my index finger, and said, 'If you hide your heart, he will never be able to take it from you'. ~ Tahereh Mafi

After spending the last hour with Cole, whose face revealed only the emotions he wanted me to see, it was strange to see undisguised pain on Sam's face. His thick dark eyebrows showed misery all by themselves. It occurred to me that he and Grace might have had a fight.
"Her parents kicked me out," Sam said, and he smiled for just a second, like people do when something's really not funny and they don't want to be telling you but they don't know what else to do. ~ Maggie Stiefvater

It's one of these juvenile therapy scams," he went on, sprinkling a pinch of the Golden Virginia tobacco along the rolling paper. "They advertise help for your troubled teen by staring at the stars and singing 'Kumbaya'. Instead, it's a bunch of bearded nutjobs left in charge of some of the craziest kids I've ever seen in my life - bulimics, nymphos, cutters trying to saw their wrists with the plastic spoons from lunch. You wouldn't believe the shit that went on." He shook his head. "Most of the kids had been so mentally screwed by their parents they needed more than twelve weeks of wilderness. They needed reincarnation. To die and just come back as a grasshopper, as a fucking weed. That'd be preferable to the agony they were in just by being alive. ~ Marisha Pessl

Code Blue! We're losing him!"
The EMTs hustled the gurney containing Erik Dawson's broken body into the operating room where the surgical team waited. The nursing staff literally ripped his clothes off as they worked to stabilize him.
"What do we have here?" the lead surgeon asked.
His assistant didn't bother to look up as she answered, "Auto accident. An eighteen- wheeler smashed his car into a guardrail."
The lead surgeon whistled through his teeth. "It's a miracle he's still breathing. Let's keep him that way."
As the surgical team moved into action with skill born of practice, Erik drifted on the fringes of consciousness.
Erik's thoughts raced. What? Where?
Anesthesia put him under, but as the doctors began their work and his parents prayed fervently in the waiting room, Erik spasmed and stopped breathing.

Family Matters, from Home Again ~ Maurice M. Gray Jr.

In the area of linguistics, there are major language
groups: Japanese, Chinese, Spanish, English, Portuguese,
Greek, German, French, and so on. Most of us grow up
learning the language of our parents and siblings, which
becomes our primary or native tongue. Later, we may learn
additional languages but usually with much more effort.
These become our secondary languages. We speak and
understand best our native language. We feel most
comfortable speaking that language. The more we use a
secondary language, the more comfortable we become
conversing in it. If we speak only our primary language and
encounter someone else who speaks only his or her
primary language, which is different from ours, our
communication will be limited. We must rely on pointing,
grunting, drawing pictures, or acting out our ideas. We can
communicate, but it is awkward. Language differences are
part and parcel of human culture. If we are to communicate
effectively across cultural lines, we must learn the language
of those with whom we wish to communicate.
In the area of love, it is similar. Your emotional love
language and the language of your spouse may be as
different as Chinese from English. No matter how hard you
try to express love in English, if your spouse understands
only Chinese, you will never understand how to love each
other. My friend on the plane was speaking the language of< ~ Gary Chapman

I used humor to avoid being picked on as a kid. Or I would try and make my parents laugh, so I wouldn't get in trouble. But as a kid, I would watch Flip Wilson and I would memorize his whole routine, listen to Bill Cosby's records constantly, Steve Martin, Carol Burnett, Lucille Ball. I just drank that stuff up and loved it. ~ Wendi McLendon-Covey

WHAT EES ALL DEES STUFF? IN AFRICA WE DOAN HAVE ALL DEES STUFF!! WE HAVE DEE BABEE!!!"

His message was simple. It goes to the heart of what we in HypnoBirthing frequently puzzle over: Why has all the "stuff" that denies the normalcy of birth and portrays it as an inevitably risky and dangerous medical event become a routine part of most childbirth education classes? Why are couples in a low- or no-risk category being prepared for circumstances that only rarely occur? Even more puzzling, why do parents accept the negative premise that birth is a dangerous, painful ordeal at best or a medical calamity at worst? Why do they blindly accept the "one-size-fits-all" approach?"

If what couples are hearing in childbirth classes is far removed from what they want their birthing experiences to be, why do they spend so much time entertaining negative outcomes that can color and shape their birth expectations and ultimately affect their birth experience? In other words, if it's not what they're wanting, why would they "go there"? In HypnoBirthing, we doan have all dees stuff, and deliberately so."

HypnoBirthing helps you to frame a positive expectation and to prepare for birth by developing a trust and belief in your birthing body and in nature's undeniable orchestration of birthing. By teaching you the basic physiology of birth and explaining the adverse effect that fear has upon the chemical and physiological responses of your body we help you to learn s ~ Marie F. Mongan

Come over early tomorrow morning," Marlboro Man asked over the phone one night. "We're gathering cattle, and I want you to meet my mom and dad."
"Oh, okay," I agreed, wondering to myself why we couldn't just remain in our own isolated, romantic world. And the truth was, I wasn't ready to meet his parents yet. I still hadn't successfully divorced myself from California J's dear, dear folks. They'd been so wonderful to me during my years of dating their son and had become the California version of my parents, my home away from home. I hated that our relationship couldn't continue despite, oh, the minor detail of my breaking up with their son. And already? Another set of parents? I wasn't ready.
"What time do you want me there?" I asked. I'd do anything for Marlboro Man.
"Can you be here around five?" he asked.
"In the evening…right?" I responded, hopeful.
He chuckled. Oh, no. This was going to turn out badly for me. "Um…no," he said. "That would be five A.M."
I sighed. To arrive at his ranch at 5:00 A.M. would mean my rising by 4:00 A.M.--before 4:00 A.M. if I wanted to shower and make myself presentable. This meant it would still be dark outside, which was completely offensive and unacceptable. There's no way. I'd have to tell him no.
"Okay--no problem!" I responded. I clutched my stomach in pain.
Chuckling again, he teased, "I can come pick you up if you need me to. Then you can sleep all the way back to the ranch."
"Are you kiddin ~ Ree Drummond

I can only imagine the sort of havoc Oliver must have wreaked as a boy."
Oliver handed Minerva in, then climbed in to sit beside her. "We weren't that bad."
"Don't listen to him," Minerva exclaimed, her eyes twinkling. "One dull evening, he and his friends went to a ball dressed in the livery of the hired footmen. Then they proceeded to drink up the liquor, flirt and wink at the elderly ladies until they were all blushing, and make loud criticisms of the entertainment. After the lady of the house caught on to their scheme and rounded up some stout young men to throw them out, they stole a small stone cupid she had in her garden and sent her a ransom note for it."
"How the devil do you know that?" Oliver asked. "You were, what, eleven?"
"Twelve," Minerva said. "And it was all Gran's servants could talk about. Made quite a stir in society, as I recall. What was the ransom? A kiss for each of you from the lady's daughter?"
A faint smile touched Oliver's lips. "And she never did pay it. Apparently her suitors took issue with it. Not to mention her parents."
"Good heavens," Maria said.
"Come to think of it," Oliver mused aloud, "I believe Kirkwood still has that cupid somewhere. I should ask him."
"You're as bad as Freddy and my cousins," Maria chided. "They put soap on all the windows of the mayor's carriage on the very day he was supposed to lead a procession through Dartmouth. You should have seen him blustering when he discovered it."
Sabrina Jeffries

Do you know much about Aaron Burr? There's a man, now, who is only damned and damned again in history and yet who had his parts. I have always designed writing something about him to show I did not stand in the jam of his vilifiers. I had a piece on him which should have gone into this book. You don't know (I guess I never told you) that when I was a lad, working in a lawyer's office, it fell to me to go over the river now and then with messages for Burr. Burr was very gentle--persuasive. He had a way of giving me a bit of fruit on these visits--an apple or a pear. I can see him clearly, still--his stateliness, gray hair, courtesy, consideration. ~ Walt Whitman

Leslie called them Judy and Bill, which bothered Jess more than he wanted it to. It was none of his business what Leslie called her parents. But he just couldn't get used to it. ~ Katherine Paterson

We believe we are seeking happiness in love, but what we are really after is familiarity. We are looking to re-create, within our adult relationships, the very feelings we knew so well in childhood and which were rarely limited to just tenderness and care. The love most of us will have tasted early on came entwined with other, more destructive dynamics: feelings of wanting to help an adult who was out of control, of being deprived of a parent's warmth or scared of his or her anger, or of not feeling secure enough to communicate our trickier wishes.

How logical, then, that we should as adults find ourselves rejecting certain candidates not because they are wrong but because they are a little too right - in the sense of seeming somehow excessively balanced, mature, understanding, and reliable - given that, in our hearts, such rightness feels foreign and unearnt. We chase after more exciting others, not in the belief that life with them will be more harmonious, but out of an unconscious sense that it will be reassuringly familiar in its patterns of frustration. ~ Alain De Botton

One thing I know is that it is a bad idea to marry someone who had bad parents. If they hated their mother, if they were hated by their mother or father, your marriage will pay for it in ways both obvious and subtle. When the chips are down, when someone is sick or loses their job or gets scared, the old patterns will kick in and he will treat you the way he treated his mother or the way she treated him. ~ Ellen Gilchrist

What did I tell you about playing the martyr card?" Andrew asked. "You said no one wanted it," Nathaniel said. "You didn't tell me to stop." "It was implied." "I'm stupid, remember? I need things spelled out." "Shut up." "Am I at ninety-four yet?" "You are at one hundred," Andrew said. "What happened to your face?" Nathaniel swallowed hard against a rush of nausea. "A dashboard lighter." He winced at the awful sound Nicky made. The groan of a quickly-shifting mattress almost swallowed up Aaron's ragged curse. Nathaniel looked back without thinking, needing to see who was on the move, and saw Aaron had rolled off the bed to go stand with Nicky. Turning meant the others got a look at his burned cheek. Kevin recoiled so hard he slammed into the wall behind him. He clapped a protective hand over his own tattoo and Nathaniel knew he was imagining Riko's reaction to this atrocity. This time it was Dan stopping Matt from getting up, her knuckles white against his dark shirt and her head turned away. Matt started to fight free but settled for a hoarse, "Jesus, Neil. The fuck did they do to you? ~ Nora Sakavic

Anna is something wrong " he asked his brow furrowed.

Yes I want to say. You ran a prison camp for Jews. You keep my parents locked in the ghetto. You let your wife's father be killed and would kill Jacob too if given the chance. Your wretched Gestapo came to our house and now Lukasz might have to leave us. Let me count the ways. Of course I did not dare to say any of this. "No Herr Kommandant " I replied managing to keep my voice even. "Everything is fine. ~ Pam Jenoff

Following Michael Brown's death, I went to Ferguson and met with his parents. I stood with them as they tried to hold their heads high and deal with both their immense loss and the larger issues of police-community relations. ~ Al Sharpton

Finally his voice came through. 'Elio,' he said. I could hear my parents and the voices of children in the background. No one could say my name that way. 'Elio,' I repeated, to say it was I speaking but also to spark our old game and show I'd forgotten nothing. 'It's Oliver,' he said. He had forgotten. ~ Andre Aciman

Every child has to disobey the father. Unless a child disobeys the father he never becomes mature. It is nothing, original, it is very simple and natural. It is very psychological. There comes an age when every child has to say NO to the parents. If he does not say no to the parents he will not have a spine; he will be spineless. If he cannot say no to the parents, he will be a slave his whole life. He will never attain to individuality. ~ Rajneesh

and THE TIGER One day, Dragon was out lounging in the shade with his best friend Tiger. The pair had been best friends ever since they were baby animals. They were the most popular animals in the entire forest and they knew it. Each year during the annual talent show, both Dragon and Tiger would perform a routine together. They performed magic tricks, balancing tricks and juggling tricks. The pair was unstoppable and each year took home the top awards. This year would not be any different, both Dragon and Tiger expected to win big at the next talent show. They had to upstage all the other animals, and this would be quite tough because most of the animals had been practicing their routines for months in order to have a chance at beating the Dragon and Tiger. ~ Martin Aaron

But Viv, if I've learned anything at all in the last eight years of my life? It's that people just like to tell themselves stories about where they came from. They can't help themselves. They don't trust the world around them--it's too good for them, or not good enough--so they tell themselves stories about it. They tell themselves an old magician who lives up in the sky made them out of clay and put them here until whenever he makes up his mind to take them out again. Your parents didn't like their creation myth, that's all--it had pain in it, and chaos, and their own parents were ashamed. So they told themselves a story that was at least partially true: about two good people who deserved happy lives. And probably at some point they started to believe that story. But the thing is, really, that it doesn't matter. For your parents or anyone else. It doesn't actually matter where we came from, or where we're going, or when. The only thing that matters is what we have to do while we're here and how well we do it. ~ Katie Coyle

Years of practice have taught me to bury my emotions as a reflex - especially in his presence - and it takes a few seconds for the feelings to emerge. They form slowly, infinite hands reaching up from infinite graves to fan the ancient rage I've never really allowed myself to touch. ~ Tahereh Mafi

I hopped in the car and headed toward the ranch. I almost fell asleep at the wheel. Twice.
Marlboro Man met me at the road that led to his parents' house, and I followed him down five miles of graveled darkness. When we pulled into the paved drive, I saw the figure of his mother through the kitchen window. She was sipping coffee. My stomach gurgled. I should have eaten something. A croissant, back at my parents' house. A bowl of Grape-Nuts, maybe. Heck, a Twinkie at QuikTrip would have been nice. My stomach was in knots.
When I exited the car, Marlboro Man was there. Shielded by the dark of the morning, we were free to greet each other not only with a close, romantic hug but also a soft, sweet kiss. I was glad I'd remembered to brush my teeth.
"You made it," he said, smiling and rubbing my lower back.
"Yep," I replied, concealing a yawn. "And I got a five-mile run in before I came. I feel awesome."
"Uh-huh," he said, taking my hand and heading toward the house. "I sure wish I were a morning person like you."
When we walked into the house, his parents were standing in the foyer.
"Hey!" his dad said with a gravelly voice the likes of which I'd never heard before. Marlboro Man came by it honestly.
"Hello," his mom said warmly. They were there to welcome me. Their house smelled deliciously like leather.
"Hi," I said. "I'm Ree." I reached out and shook their hands.
"You sure look nice this morning," his mom remarked. She looked com ~ Ree Drummond

Is that how he sees it? He knows how much his death will hurt us, so he must be under the impression that by staying alive he'll eventually hurt us even more. Maybe we should pretend we've stopped caring what he does. Say, "We've given up on you, Abel. You don't matter." Well, that would gratify him, our failling in line with what he has been telling us for months. How do we get around that? How do we persuade him that he's entitled to cause pain and, what's more, that he has a responsibility to bear the pain that he causes?

If only I could say, "You're worthy of your own life," and make him believe me. Too late. Too late. He seems completely enraptured now by the idea of no longer existing. I think he imagines the space he'll vacate, the actually physical space, and there we'll be, his parents and I, waving our hands around trying to find him, but at least we won't come up against any resistance. There won't be anything to collide with, only air. ~ Barbara Gowdy