Fairness doesn't govern life and death. If it did, no good person would ever die young.
Fairness doesn't govern life and death. If it did, no good person would ever die young.
Silence was his escape, but silence is rarely a refuge.
Kids chase the love that eludes them, and for me, that was my father's love. He kept it tucked away, like papers in a briefcase. And I kept trying to get in there.
There is everything you know and there is everything that happens. When the two do not line up, you make a choice.
Heaven can be found in the most unlikely corners.
Sometimes you have to do things when sad things happen.
Kids chase the love that eludes them.
Things change when you're not in danger anymore.
Hello, Edward. I've been waiting for you.
Strangers are family you haven't recognize yet
Life goes quickly, doesn't it?
This is a story about a family and, as there is a ghost involved, you might cal it a ghost story. But every family is a ghost story. The dead sit at out tables long after they have gone.
His father, who for years had refused to speak to Eddie, now lacked the strength to even try. He watched his son with heavy-lidded eyes. Eddie, after struggling to find even one sentence to say, did the only thing he could think of to do: He held up his hands and showed his father his grease-stained fingertips.
Strangers are just family you haven't meet yet.
Mothers support certain illusions about their children, and one of my illusions was that I liked who I was, because she did. When she passed away, so did that idea.
What is it about childhood that never lets you go, even when you're so wrecked it's hard to believe you ever were a child?
How do people choose their final words? Do they realize their gravity? Are they fated to be wise?
My mother was French Protestant, and my father was Italian Catholic, and their union was an excess of God, guilt and sauce.
When death takes your mother, it steals that word forever.
I took my orders, too. But if i couldn't keep you alive, I thought I could at least keep you together. In the middle of a big war, you go looking for a small idea to believe in. When you find one, you hold it the way a soldier holds his crucifix when he's praying in a foxhole.
Now you know how badly someone wanted you, Charley. Children forget that sometimes. They think of themselves as a burden instead of a wish granted.
When you look into your mother's eyes, you know that is the purest love you can find on this earth.
Instead, he did what we all do. He went about his dull routine as if all the days in the world were still to come.
One day spent with someone you love can change everything.
You can find something truly important in an ordinary minute.
It's the thinking that gets you killed.
Sharing tales of those we've lost is how we keep from really losing them.
You count the hours you could have spent with your mother. It's a lifetime in itself.
Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that's all.
She cared. She gave a crap. When I lacked even the self-respect to keep myself alive, she dabbed my cuts and I fell back into being a son; I fell as easily as you fall into your pillow at night. And I didn't want it to end. That's the best way I can explain it. I knew it was impossible. But I didn't want it to end.
You need to keep people close. You need to give them access to your heart.
No one gets left behind, remember?
Belief, hard work, love-you have those things, you can do anything.
She had a bottomless well of love for me.
All parents damage their children. This was their life together. Neglect. Violence. Silence.
No story sits by itself, Sometimes stories meet at corners and sometimes they cover one another completely, like stones beneath a river.
But she wasn't around, and that's the thing when your parents die, you feel like instead of going in to every fight with backup, you are going into every fight alone.
Small towns are like metronomes; with the slightest flick, the beat changes.
But love takes many forms, and it is not the same for any man and woman. What people find then is a certain love.
No, Edward. You are here so I can teach you something. All the people you meet here have one thing to teach you.
Going back to something is harder than you think.
So many times I feel I'm using the same words over and over, like a woman wearing the same dress every day. So boring!
But our eyes are different, what you see ain't what I see.
Sacrifice is a part of life. It's supposed to be. It's not something to regret. It's something to aspire to. Little sacrifices. Big sacrifices. A mother works so her son can go to school. A daughter moves home to take care of her sick father.
I also believe that parents, if they love you, will hold you up safely, above their swirling waters, and sometimes that means you'll never know what they endured, and you may treat them unkindly, in a way you otherwise wouldn't.
Something is always happening somewhere.
Courage is confused with picking up arms and cowardness is confused with laying them down.
Sacrififice is a part of life. It's supposed to be. It's not something to regret. It's something to aspire to.
I saw in her expression that old, unshakable mountain of concern. And I realized when you look at your mother, you are looking at the purest love you will ever know
Suddenly, details seemed extremely important. Details were something to grab on to, a way to insert myself into the story.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories