Yolanda King Quotes

My very first memory of being alive is being tossed in the air by my father and laughing and knowing, really knowing, that his was absolute joy.

There's no doubt Matt Leinart loves his son very much.

Simple pleasures were all the pleasures that I knew as a child.

At her birthday, my seven-year-old daughter will say that she wants these big cakes and certain expensive toys as presents, and I can't say no to her. It would just break my heart. But when I was little, for birthdays we just played outside and we were happy if we got any cake.

I knew that I was loved. And that's such an important thing. And, of course, at such an early age, you take it for granted. Of course your parents love you. Of course Mrs. Hubert across the street loves you and your godmother loves you and your grandparents love you.

I think that all of us either lose touch with the child inside us or try and hold onto it because it so precious to us and it's such an extraordinary part of our lives.

I had this whole ritual with my mother making the bed with me inside it so I would be invisible.

The kids are so much fun. I'm always taking a look over at what they're doing because it reminds me of when I was so small before.

The one thing I never questioned about my mother was whether she loved me.

The happiest days of my youth were when my brother and I would run through the woods and feel quite safe.

With my mom and dad around, I became a child yet again.

It's so much fun trying to channel my inner four-year-old.

My favourite memory was the first time my mum bought me a bubble blower. I must have been the happiest girl in the world that day. I was all over those bubbles like a moth to a flame.

I'm told that as a child, when my dad was alive, I'd get up, put on my coat and go sit in the back of his car. The driver would just go around the neighborhood - as long as I had my little trip, I was happy.

I have a certain memory of the way in which my father loved me until I was 10, and it was unconditional and eternal. I get to carry that for the rest of my life, but on a practical level after age 10, it's just me sort of figuring it out.

I thought my father had forgotten about me. But I realised that he missed me as much as I missed him.

I remember being out in the street, singing 'Forever And Ever' at the top of my voice at five years old.

Of course I was in love with my father as a child. He was Daddy, and our house came alive in a special way whenever he walked through the door. He'd romp and play with us; my sisters and I would literally squeal with excitement when Daddy came home.

My parents loved me. My father used to carry me around on my shoulders. I know my father loved me. All families love their children, and we were good boys.

So much of our early gladness vanishes utterly from our memory: we can never recall the joy with which we laid our heads on our mother's bosom or rode on our father's back in childhood; doubtless that joy is wrought up into our nature, as the sunlight of long-past mornings is wrought up in the soft mellowness of the apricot; but it is gone forever from our imagination, and we can only believe in the joy of childhood.

Inside the snow globe on my father's desk, there was a penguin wearing a red-and-white-striped scarf. When I was little my father would pull me into his lap and reach for the snow globe. He would turn it over, letting all the snow collect on the top, then quickly invert it. The two of us watched the snow fall gently around the penguin. The penguin was alone in there, I thought, and I worried for him. When I told my father this, he said, "Don't worry, Susie; he has a nice life. He's trapped in a perfect world.

I remember how much fun it was to be a child in the kibbutz.

My father would lift me high. And dance with my mother and me and then. Spin me around til I fell asleep. Then up the stairs he would carry me and I knew for sure I was loved.

Love her as in childhood Through feeble, old and grey. For you’ll never miss a mother’s love Till she’s buried beneath the clay.

Come on back and we’ll see if you remember the simplest thing of all – how it is to be children, secure in belief and thus afraid of the dark.