I wanted you to know that the world in its entirety could never be found in the schools, alone, nor the streets, alone, nor in the trophy case. I wanted you to claim the whole world, as it is.
I was too old for my father to (be protective), too young to be flattered.
(n.) The state of a parent; the office or character of a parent.
If my children think I'm genuine, no one else's opinion matters to me.
In biblical times, they used to stone a few thirteen-year-olds with some regularity, which helped keep the others quiet and at home. The mothers were usually in the first row of stone throwers, and ha...
In the mystifying world that was Victorian parenthood, obedience took precedence over all considerations of affection and happiness, and that odd, painful conviction remained the case in most well-hee...
Incidentally, I have also learned a bit about the importance of avoiding feminine embarrassment ('Daddy,' wrote Sophia when she enrolled at the New School where I teach, 'people will ask why is old Ch...
Is there a word for adults when they aren't parents?Steppa laughs. Folks with other things to do?Like what things?Jobs, I guess. Friends. Trips. Hobbies.
It is not true that love is not love which alters when it alteration finds. Love alters all the time; it is fluid, in perceptual flux, an evolving business across a lifetime.
It wasn't right that you could only understand your parents' pain once you'd experienced the things they had, and by then they were gone.
It wasn't until we dropped him at his university dormitory and left him there looking touchingly lost and bewildered amid an assortment of cardboard boxes and suitcases in a spartan room not unlike a...
It's the silliness--the profligacy, and the silliness--that's so dizzying: a seven-year-old will run downstairs, kiss you hard, and then run back upstairs again, all in less than 30 seconds. It's as u...
Memories particularly of when they weren’t being what parents are nine-tenths of the time, the taskmasters, the examples, the moral authorities, the nags of pick-that-up and you’re-going-to-be-late, k...
Mothers burning inside the risen suns of their children.
My mind was curiously blank. It was the blankness of obedience. With the unerring instinct of children, I had surmised what my parents wanted from me. They wanted me to stay the way I was. [434]
My son will wear the title well, the Duke thought, and realized with a sudden chill that this was another death thought.
Nobody works harder at learning than a curious kid.
Of Teddy Roosevelt and his siblings, the author writes they were, armed with an innate curiosity and discipline fostered by his remarkable father.
Originality must compound with inheritance.
The Mother Thing makes our world.
The fullness ends when we give Nature her ransom, when we make children for her. Then she is through with us, and we become, first inside, and then outside, junk. Flower stalks.
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