A Quote by Cathy Guisewite

The story of a mother's life:   Trapped between a scream and a hug. — © Cathy Guisewite
The story of a mother's life: Trapped between a scream and a hug.
You are the untold story. You are the impassioned truth wanting to scream its existence, to be forever trapped by a strong hand clapped firmly over the mouth of my soul.
I only really ever hug my mother. Is this okay?” he asked. I laughed. “It’s hard to get a hug wrong.
My painting is not violent, it's life that is violent. Even within the most beautiful landscape, in the trees, under the leaves, the insects are eating each other; violence is a part of life. We are born with a scream; we come into life with a scream and maybe love is a mosquito net between the fear of living and the fear of death.
At the end, what I like is that it's the girl's decision to go back in the room. She needs a hug, she wants a hug, she asks for a hug and he gives it to her. For me, it's like an act of resistance to go there and to transgress the taboo and to do what started the whole thing in the beginning. It was supposedly a hug that started this whole drama between the character of Simon and the teacher.
I once heard a story, it's probably apocryphal, but I love the notion. That a car had flipped over and the baby was trapped underneath the car and the mother was thrown from the car. Then the mother lifted up the car to pull her child to safety. And I believe that my own strength comes from whom and what I love.
I slammed the door in the child's face, a horrific scream trapped in my throat.
I'm a man that's unique to the world. That's kind of the star I was born under - on the cusp of Capricorn and Aquarius. My mother is Irish-American, and my father is Afro-Panamanian, so it's kind of been the story of my life to be a bridge between different cultures and different styles, and musically, that's between jazz and R&B.
If you write a story based on a real person, you're trapped by the details of the real person and his life. It gets in the way of writing your own story.
The thing is that my father's story helps to communicate what was at stake with my mother, and my mother and father had so much a partnership that his story is integral to her story, as her story is to his - really, her story can't be told without his story.
'Scream Queens' was so much fun, kind of like a big sorority. And 'American Horror Story' is very serious, like a really hip family of middle-aged women. The deaths were fun on 'Scream Queens'; the deaths on 'Horror Story' are very real and intense, and you have to be emotionally prepped for them.
The only story that seems worth writing is a cry, a shot, a scream. A story should break the reader's heart.
If you're angry at a loved one, hug that person. And mean it. You may not want to hug - which is all the more reason to do so. It's hard to stay angry when someone shows they love you, and that's precisely what happens when we hug each other.
I did know that I could do scream very well. When I was in high school, I got a very strange job one Halloween filming screams for a radio station. I would just go into a soundstage and scream and scream and scream, and everybody would put on ear plugs, so I had an inkling.
I think of the chimp, the one with the talking hands. In the course of the experiment, that chimp had a baby. Imagine how her trainers must have thrilled when the mother, without prompting, began to sign her newborn. Baby, drink milk. Baby, play ball. And when the baby died, the mother stood over the body, her wrinkled hands moving with animal grace, forming again and again the words: Baby, come hug, Baby come hug, fluent now in the language of grief.
American popular culture, like individuals in daily life, tends to either romanticize or demonize mothers. We ricochet between 'Everything I ever accomplished I owe to my mother' and 'Every problem I have in my life is my mother's fault.'
I never asked my mother where babies came from but I remember clearly the day she volunteered the information....my mother called me to set the table for dinner. She sat me down in the kitchen, and under the classic caveat of 'loving each other very, very much,' explained that when a man and a woman hug tightly, the man plants a seed in the woman. The seed grows into a baby. Then she sent me to the pantry to get placemats. As a direct result of this conversation, I wouldn't hug my father for two months.
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