Okigbo Family Quotes & Sayings

Well, he's handsome and rich and you're living in his house, borrowing his boat. You're his - He's your - " he still couldn't say it. Saying it would make it real and then he'd be the other woman, sort of.

"Father." B supplied calmly.

"Father? You mean as in sugar daddy?"

"No, I mean father, as in father, you know, guy who had sex with my mother resulting in my existence." He was less calm. — Camlia Waite

As I have grown older I am more and more convinced that I have not grown up, that my powers have not come to me, not my real wisdom to do and achieve the right thoughts. I lack some dear grace. I cannot seem to steady down and get the single eye. There is a curriculum in living in which I have not studied. This may be happiness. I want to know it; I should feel better prepared for immortality. I do not wish to arrive fagged at last and a bit slipshod in the spirit, as if I had a hard time all my mortal life. It is not complimentary to God. — Corra May Harris

It's funny about me,' Sophia said. 'I always feel like such a nice girl whenever there's a storm.'
"'You do?' Grandmother said. 'Well, maybe ...' Nice, she thought. No. I'm certainly not nice. The best you could say of me is that I'm interested. [pp. 150-151] — Tove Jansson

Nothing could be more absurd than an experiment in which computers are placed in a classroom where nothing else is changed. — Seymour Papert

My mum is my best friend. — Leona Lewis

Girls weren't drug addicted, they were love addicted, and that, I'll learn, is far harder to treat. — Rachel Lloyd

For the president to resign now would be wrong. President Clinton may have debased himself with his behavior, but we shouldn't debase the office with an impulsive overreaction. — George Stephanopoulos

No child should die in the dawn of life. — Danny Thomas

Political truth is libel; religious truth, blasphemy. — William Hazlitt

The last thing I remember ia an exquisitely beautiful green and silver moth landing on the curve of my wrist. The sound of rain on the roof of our house gently pulls me toward consciousness. I fight to return to sleep though, wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets, safe at home. I'm vaguely aware that my head aches. Possibly I have the flu and this is why I'm allowed to stay in bed, even though I can tell I've been asleep a long time. My mother's hand strokes my cheek and I don't push is away as I would in wakefulness, never wanting her to know how much I crave that gentle touch. How much I miss her even though I still don't trust her. Then there's a voice, the wrong voice, not my mother's and i'm scared. — Suzanne Collins