A Quote by Douglas Henshall

No, my ma died nearly 20 years ago. I still miss her, and I still think about her a lot but the memories I have are warm, rather than melancholic or tinged with sadness. — © Douglas Henshall
No, my ma died nearly 20 years ago. I still miss her, and I still think about her a lot but the memories I have are warm, rather than melancholic or tinged with sadness.
I miss Betty madly. I loved her. Whenever people talk about her, I get really nostalgic. There are parts of her still with me; I played her for four years and, of course, the lines get blurred.
Well, Ma, see... there's this girl." Silence. He checked to make sure the call hadn't been dropped. "You still there, Ma?" A sniffle. "You can't be crying already," he said. "I haven't told you anything about her yet." "It doesn't matter, Nick," his mother said through her tears. "Those are the three words I've been waiting thirty-four years to hear.
Twelve years ago my mother gets her cataracts removed. So twelve years ago the doctor gives her these enormous sunglasses to wear to protect her eyes from the sun for 4-6 weeks after the operation...twelve years ago. She still wears them. She thinks they're attractive. She looks like Bea Arthur as a welder.
She had this dark cancer water dripping out of her chest. Eyes closed. Intubated. But her hand was still her hand, still warm and the nails painted this almost black dark blue and I just held her hand and tried to imagine the world without us and for about one second I was a good enough person to hope she died so she would never know that I was going, too. But then I wanted more time so we could fall in love. I got my wish, I suppose. I left my scar.
I didn't write about my mother much in the third year after she died. I was still trying to get my argument straight: When her friends or our relatives wondered why I was still so hard on her, I could really lay out the case for what it had been like to be raised by someone who had loathed herself, her husband, even her own name.
I want to tell you how much I miss my mother. Bits of her are still there. I miss her most when I'm sitting across from her.
[Harriet Tubman] spoke passionately about her parents, her friends, shared stories about her childhood - learning about all these elements and aspects of her was mind-blowing and educational for me as a woman because I have to sometimes remind people that have known me for years, even in past relationships, that I'm still a woman, I still have vulnerabilities even though my aesthetic feels strong, powerful and full of all of the wisdom in the world, I'm still growing and becoming.
He looks out into the empty street, allowing me to sit in his car and just miss her. To miss her each time I pull in a breath of air. To miss her with a heart that feels so cold by itself, but warm when thoughts of her flow through me.
Lorna was quite young when her mother died, and I think she's blocked out some of the memories. I talked to her a little bit about that, but I wasn't prepared to go around and poke and hurt her.
That was the change in her from ten years ago; that, indeed, was her reward, this haunting, magical sadness which spoke straight to the heart and struck silence; it was the completion of her beauty.
My mother's songs are really turning out to be masterpieces. I have inherited this incredible legacy and am so fortunate to bathe in her sensibilities. It is tinged with tragedy. I'd much rather she was here in person, but there is still a positive force to come out of her death and that is having the gift of music that she gave.
Just because someone's dead doesn't mean it's over. My grandfather died more than 25 years ago, but I still think of him a lot and smell his smell.
And how stands the city on this winter night? More prosperous, more secure, and happier than it was 8 years ago. But more than that: After 200 years, two centuries, she still stands strong and true on the granite ridge, and her glow has held steady no matter what storm. And she's still a beacon, still a magnet for all who must have freedom, for all the pilgrims from all the lost places who are hurtling through the darkness, toward home.
Although still viewed as lovely and alluring by many, Winston Churchill's mother shocked society when at 46 she married a man 20 years her junior. Most malicious of the many jibes launched at her was that of one lady who went about peering into perambulators. When asked her reason, she replied, "I am searching for my future husband."
I love playing Blair Cramer, and I'm thrilled to see what more they have in store for her. After playing this role for so many years, I still feel like there is so much about her that is still untold.
My mother died yesterday, yesterday many years ago. You know, what amazed me the most the next day after her leaving was the fact that the buildings were still in place, the streets were still full of cars running, full of people who were walking, seemingly ignoring that my whole world has just disappeared." (rough translation)
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