A Quote by Lee Daniels

My mom knew early on that I was gay, and she knew that I had to get out of the ghetto. — © Lee Daniels
My mom knew early on that I was gay, and she knew that I had to get out of the ghetto.
Mrs Forrester ... sat in state, pretending not to know what cakes were sent up, though she knew, and we knew, and she knew that we knew, and we knew that she knew that we knew, she had been busy all the morning making tea-bread and sponge-cakes.
My mom, we had a relationship. I knew she loved me. I always knew she loved me. But she didn't, openly or overtly, express, you know, affection and love. But I - I knew. I knew she did.
I knew when I met Morgan that she was the perfect girl because she was in college, she was an athlete and we had the same morals and beliefs and I knew that she would be a great mom.
Both of my parents are music teachers. My mother owns the school that I taught in. My brothers and sisters are musicans. My mom pushed me all the time. She knew that I could do it. She knew more than I did. She thought I would go somewhere. She gave me the job and helped me get equipment, which a lot of parents don't do. Alot of my students had to go out and fight for it.
My mom knew that I was gay. So she just came up to me in the kitchen one night, and she said, 'Justin, are you a homosexual?' And I said, 'Yes,' and that was that. She took all the steps, she went to talk to a family counselor beforehand to see how she should bring it up, and now my mom's my biggest fan.
I knew that I was a gay boy fairly early; what was interesting to me was that my mother didn't know. She made me play baseball - I had no desire to do that. I said, 'Mom, I don't like direct sunlight, I don't like bugs, I don't like grass, and I'd rather be in the house playing with your fabric samples.'
I knew that I was a gay boy fairly early; what was interesting to me was that my mother didn’t know. She made me play baseball - I had no desire to do that. I said, ‘Mom, I don’t like direct sunlight, I don’t like bugs, I don’t like grass, and I’d rather be in the house playing with your fabric samples.’
I remember my doctors examining my vocal cords and asking if I had an eating disorder, and I instantly said no. But then my mom, who was in the room with me, said my name in her 'mom voice,' and I just lost it. I didn't realize that she knew or that anyone knew.
My mom, we had a relationship. I knew she loved me. I always knew she loved me. But she didn't, openly or overtly, express, you know, affection and love.
He stepped toward her, and her heart just ached from it. His face was so handsome, and so dear, and so perfectly wonderfully familiar. She knew the slope of his cheeks, and the exact shade of his eys, brownish near the iris, melting into green at the edge. And his mouth-she knew that mouth, the look of it, the feel of it. She knew his smile, and she knew his frown, and she knew- she knew far to much.
When I left college, it broke my mom's heart, but I knew I had to be in Nashville. I knew that was the place you had to be in to become a better songwriter, and that's what I wanted to move there for and to ultimately get a record deal.
When I was in high school in the early 1970s, we knew we were running out of oil; we knew that easy sources were being capped; we knew that diversifying would be much better; we knew that there were terrible dictators and horrible governments that we were enriching who hated us. We knew all that and we did really nothing.
She was perfect. I knew this the moment she emerged from my body, white and wet and wailing. Beyond the requisite ten fingers and ten toes, the beating heart, the lungs inhaling and exhaling oxygen, my daughter knew how to scream. She knew how to make herself heard. She knew how to reach out and latch on. She knew what she needed to do to survive. I didn’t know how it was possible that such perfection could have developed within a body as flawed as my own, but when I looked into her face, I saw that it clearly was.
I think I was probably looking for gay role models when I was younger, before I even knew or thought I was gay. I didn't really make the connection that they were gay, but I felt drawn to them because they were going against the grain, and I knew there was something that they had that everybody else didn't have. It was an edge.
My mom died before she knew I was gay, and my dad thought it was a phase, then realized it wasn't.
OK, so my parents were married in 1955 and my mom knew my dad was gay and my dad knew he was gay and so I was, like, 'Why in the heck did you get married?' Like, what was going on? What was that time? It's like this crazy paradox that my whole life is based on, or my family's based on. So I spent a lot of time trying to understand '55.
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