A Quote by Roberto Cavalli

I was a disaster child. I remember I make very often my mother cry. — © Roberto Cavalli
I was a disaster child. I remember I make very often my mother cry.
I'm often a crier and many things make me cry. I come from a crying family - my mother cries, my grandma used to cry. It was never shameful to cry. My father never told me men don't cry.
My mother said I was always an intense child, a very sensitive child. So that probably helped the emotions to be very present. I was just a big thinker. I would evaluate and analyze and feel and cry and discuss and be angry. All of those emotions were very surface for me.
Dread of disaster makes everybody act in the very way that increases the disaster. Psychologically the situation is analogous to that of people trampled to death when there is a panic in a theatre caused by a cry of `Fire!'.
I always say if music can't make you cry, you're a hopeless case. I don't cry very much myself, but it's my job to make you cry.
I loved what I did. I remember cruel mothers who would pinch their children to make them cry in a scene, but my mother encircled me with affection.
You have to understand that I'm a child of the second generation, which means my mother was in Auschwitz, and the aunt of my mother was in Auschwitz with her; my grandmother and grandfather died there. So yes. All of those gestures they work for you, or for them, to fill their time or not feel their anxiety. But the child feels everything. It doesn't make the child secure. You put the child in a jail.
The mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense, tragic. It requires the most intense love on the mother's side, yet this very love must help the child grow away from the mother, and to become fully independent.
I learned early that crying out in protest could accomplish things. My older brothers and sister had started to school when, sometimes, they would come in and ask for a buttered biscuit or something and my mother, impatiently, would tell them no. But I would cry out and make a fuss until I got what I wanted. I remember well how my mother asked me why I couldn't be a nice boy like Wilfred; but I would think to myself that Wilfred, for being so nice and quiet, often stayed hungry. So early in life, I had learned that if you want something, you had better make some noise.
When I was five years old, I remember watching the opening of the Oscars with my mother and crying as I watched celebrities walk in on the red carpet. Why would any child cry watching the Oscars? For me, the reason was simple: I wanted to be there so badly that I burst into tears.
I was a very shy child. I remember being in a kindergarten open house with my mother and children saying 'Hi' to me, and I still remember feeling this way - but I don't know why - but I wouldn't even say 'Hi' back. I was that shy.
I remember being on Atonement and it felt very right to be there. There was so much excitement every day. I remember very vividly how it felt to be a child on a film set, and that is actually really important to hold on to for as long as you continue to make films.
I cry when I don't get food on time. I am not cranky but have the heart of a child. I cry and laugh at most times. I have the sensitivity of a child.
It's very important not to put pressure on a child. Make sure that she/he feels that whatever happens it's not the end of the world. If they cry after a loss that's normal, as adults also hate to lose. If they win a game you should make them feel very proud but make sure they know the next game will be another challenge.
If you ever face a significant disaster, do your best to keep up the spirits of those around you, act flexibly and creatively to help, try to sort rumors from truth, and remember that the decisions you make will have repercussions after the disaster has passed.
There's a definition of narcissism that when a parent is narcissistic, instead of the child seeing himself reflected in the mother's face and the mother's joy, the child of the narcissistic parent feels like, 'What can I do to make her okay, to make her happy?'
I myself will perhaps cry out with all the rest, looking at the mother embracing her child's tormentor: 'Just art thou, O Lord!' but I do not want to cry out with them. While there's still time, I hasten to defend myself against it, and therefore I absolutely renounce all higher harmony. It is not worth one little tear of even that one tormented child who beat her chest with her little fist and prayed to 'dear God' in a stinking outhouse with her unredeemed tears!
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