#kids

The only love that I really believe in is a mother’s love for her children. ↗

— Karl Lagerfeld

#children #designer #emotion #feelings #karl-lagerfeld

My kids are fanatical about 'Scooby-Doo,' and I think that the creators of 'Scooby-Doo' somehow tripped across some kind of magical hypnotic formula that lures children. It's far more fascinating to them than anything else on the air. ↗

— Dave Willis

#across #air #anything #children #creators

We don't mind being ripped apart, but don't rip the songs apart. They're like our kids. ↗

— Maurice Gibb

#being #kids #like #mind #our

We must teach our children to dream with their eyes open. ↗

— Harry Edwards

#dream #kids #teach #dreams

I imagined myself as Frida to Diego, both muse and maker. I dreamed of meeting an artist to love and support and work with side by side. ↗

— Patti Smith

#patti-smith #dreams

Me? I had no dreams. No longings. Dreams only set you up for disappointment. Plus, you had to have a life to have dreams of a better life. ↗

— Julie Anne Peters

#high-school-kids #lgbtq #lgbtq-literature #luna #transgender

My parents raised me that you never ask people about their reproductive plans. “You don’t know their situation,” my mom would say. I considered it such an impolite question that for years I didn’t even ask myself. Thirty-five turned into forty faster than McDonald’s food turns into cold nonfood. ↗

— Tina Fey

#impolite #kids #mcdonalds #mother #food

Instead of communicating "I love you, so let me make life easy for you," I decided that my message needed to be something more along these lines: "I love you. I believe in you. I know what you're capable of. So I'm going to make you work. ↗

— Kay Wills Wyma

#entitlement #kids #parenting #work #communication

One reason we have children I think is to learn that parts of ourselves we had given up for dead are merely dormant and that the old joys can re emerge fresh and new and in a completely different form. ↗

— Anne Fadiman

#kids #parenting #family

I was also sick of my neighbors, as most Parisians are. I now knew every second of the morning routine of the family upstairs. At 7:00 am alarm goes off, boom, Madame gets out of bed, puts on her deep-sea divers’ boots, and stomps across my ceiling to megaphone the kids awake. The kids drop bags of cannonballs onto the floor, then, apparently dragging several sledgehammers each, stampede into the kitchen. They grab their chunks of baguette and go and sit in front of the TV, which is always showing a cartoon about people who do nothing but scream at each other and explode. Every minute, one of the kids cartwheels (while bouncing cannonballs) back into the kitchen for seconds, then returns (bringing with it a family of excitable kangaroos) to the TV. Meanwhile the toilet is flushed, on average, fifty times per drop of urine expelled. Finally, there is a ten-minute period of intensive yelling, and at 8:15 on the dot they all howl and crash their way out of the apartment to school.” (p.137) ↗

— Stephen Clarke

#bed #cannonball #cartoon #cartwheel #ceiling