A Quote by Keith Miller
I remember when I was a little boy my father didn't love me; he couldn't. He loved my older brother but he couldn't love me somehow, at least not in a way I could understand it.
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The older I get the more I can see
How much he loved my mother and my brother and me
And he did the best that he could
And I only hope when I have my own family
That everyday I see a little more of my father in me.
You know the troubles I've had with my two older children. I can't understand why it turned out so badly. I tried to give them everything. I loved them and tried to keep them near me, even when they didn't return my love. Well, I couldn't make them love me, but they could have shown some respect. I couldn't insist on love, but I could insist on respect.
Some friends don't understand this. They don't understand how desperate I am to have someone say, I love you and I support you just the way you are because you're wonderful just the way you are. They don't understand that I can't remember anyone ever saying that to me. I am so demanding and difficult for my friends because I want to crumble and fall apart before them so that they will love me even though I am no fun, lying in bed, crying all the time, not moving. Depression is all about If you loved me you would.
My sister has seen my father's love and my brother, but not me. But Maniesh, I didn't even get love from my brother in my house, because everyone's busy with their own work. But now, the love I get from my husband has made me realise how a man is supposed to care.
My father was a man of love. He always loved me to death. He worked hard in the fields, but my father never hit me. Never. I don't ever remember a really cross, unkind word from my father.
My father was murdered when I was 12 years old. It was just me and my mother and my brother at the time. My brother was a little bit older than me and he left, so it was just me and my mom for a bit in Baltimore.
My father never once told me he loved me. I told him I loved him only one time - that was when he was sick. It was hard, the way he showed his love. I didn't understand what he was trying to teach me. Now I know, but it came too late for him to see it. After he was gone, I realized he was trying to strengthen my mind to make me better.
I pray that you will understand the words of Jesus, “Love one another as I have loved you.” Ask yourself “How has he loved me? Do I really love others in the same way?” Unless this love is among us, we can kill ourselves with work and it will only be work, not love. Work without love is slavery.
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.
For me it's not possible to forget, and I don't understand people who, when the love is ended, can bury the other person in hatred or oblivion. For me, a man I have loved becomes a kind of brother.
I disagree with a couple of the stances of the Catholic Church. My older brother is gay, and it's important for me to be able to love him completely and freely, and it's important for me to spread beliefs in the world that are not going to limit people in their love. I can't support a religion that doesn't support my brother.
I love feeling loved. I don't love knowing that I will always come in second place. I love the fact that at least sometimes when I am in my home, I'm not alone. I don't love the fact that it's not always. I love not having to answer to him. I don't love that he doesn't answer to me. I love the way I feel when I am with him. I don't love the way I feel when I'm not.
My father never played with me. I can remember my father picking me up - once. I can remember my father telling me behind a closed door that he loved me - once.
My kids make me laugh every day. And they're so supportive. As I get older, they understand those things I worried about - the guilt of being gone - in a way that's so healing for me, when they say, "Mom, we know you love what you do. We love to watch you do what you do."
My father wasn't present, so my older brother felt like a father. He was only two years older than me so that was all I had.
Maybe you are homophobic a little bit, but then you see me, and you've always loved me, and you love the way I play, and your kids love me. And then you're like, 'Oh, that's OK. It's fine.' Once it gets a little bit more personal, it helps break down those barriers.
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