Grandma Quotes

“The groove is so mysterious. We're born with it and we lose it and the world seems to split apart before our eyes into stupid and cool. When we get it back, the world unifies around us, and both stupid and cool fall away.
I am grateful to those who are keepers of the groove. The babies and the grandmas who hang on to it and help us remember when we forget that any kind of dancing is better than no dancing at all.”
― Lynda Barry, One Hundred Demons

“To all those who care,
You can't forever.
Time steals the years,
And your reflection in the mirror.
But I can still see the story in your eyes,
And your timeless passion that’s never died.
While your skin became tired,
Your heart became strong,
The present became the past,
And your memories like a song.
And though the moment at hand is all that we have,
You’ve taught me to live it like it is our last.
Since two words don't say ‘thank you’ the way they are meant to,
I'll try all my life to be something like you.”
― Crystal Woods, Write like no one is reading 2

“Where did you meet?” he pressed on.
I shrugged and considered a little rephrasing. “I was out for a run.”
“From who?”
I leaned back to take a long, very long, slow sip of that beer.
Knox leaned forward. “I think we’re both bullsh*tting here, you ever play that card game?”
“With my grandma, every Sunday after church.”
― Dannika Dark, Sterling

“The Everlasting Staircase"
Jeffrey McDaniel

When the call came, saying twenty-four hours to live,
my first thought was: can't she postpone her exit

from this planet for a week? I've got places to do,
people to be. Then grief hit between the ribs,

said disappear or reappear more fully. so I boarded
a red eyeball and shot across America,

hoping the nurses had enough quarters to keep
the jukebox of Grandma's heart playing. She grew up

poor in Appalachia. And while world war II
functioned like Prozac for the Great Depression,

she believed poverty was a double feature,
that the comfort of her adult years was merely

an intermission, that hunger would hobble back,
hurl its prosthetic leg through her window,

so she clipped, clipped, clipped -- became the Jacques
Cousteau of the bargain bin, her wetsuit

stuffed with coupons. And now --pupils fixed, chin
dangling like the boots of a hanged man --

I press my ear to her lampshade-thin chest
and listen to that little soldier march toward whatever

plateau, or simply exhaust his arsenal of beats.
I hate when people ask if she even knew I was there.

The point is I knew, holding the one-sided
conversation of her hand. Once I believed the heart

was like a bar of soap -- the more you use it,
the smaller it gets; care too much and it'll snap off

in your grasp. But when Grandma's last breath
waltzed from that room, my heart opened

wide like a parachute, and I realized she didn't die.
She simply found a silence she could call her own.”
― Jeffrey McDaniel

“You're a brave, brave girl, Tula" Gaby told her.
"I know", said the little girl. "I got it from you.”
― James Patterson, The Christmas Wedding

“Grandma, he had often wanted to say, Is this where the world began? For surely it had begun in no other than a place like this. The kitchen, without doubt, was the center of creation, all things revolved about it; it was the pediment that sustained the temple.
Eyes shut to let his nose wander, he snuffed deeply. He moved in the hell-fire steams and sudden baking-powder flurries of snow in this miraculous climate where Grandma, with the look of the Indies in her eyes and the flesh of two warm hens in her bodice, Grandma of the thousand arms, shook, basted, whipped, beat, minced, diced, peeled, wrapped, salted, stirred.
Blind, he touched his way to the pantry door. A squeal of laughter rang from the parlor, teacups tinkled. But he moved on into the cool underwater green and wild-persimmon country where the slung and hanging odor of creamy bananas ripened silently and bumped his head. Gnats fizzed angrily about vinegar cruets and his ears.
He opened his eyes. He saw bread waiting to be cut into slices of warm summer cloud, doughnuts strewn like clown hoops from some edible game. The faucets turned on and off in his cheeks. Here on the plum-shadowed side of the house with maple leaves making a creek-water running in the hot wind at the window he read spice-cabinet names.”
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

“Trailing veils of steam, Grandma came and went and came again with covered dishes from kitchen to table while the assembled company waited in silence. No one lifted lids to peer in at the hidden victuals. At last Grandma sat down, Grandpa said grace, and immediately thereafter the silverware flew up like a plague of locusts on the air.
When everyone's mouths were absolutely crammed full of miracles, Grandmother sat back and said, "Well, how do you like it?"
And the relatives, including Aunt Rose, and the boarders, their teeth deliciously mortared together at this moment, faced a terrible dilemma. Speak and break the spell, or continue allowing this honey-syrup food of the gods to dissolve and melt away to glory in their mouths? They looked as if they might laugh or cry at the cruel dilemma. They looked as if they might sit there forever, untouched by fire or earthquake, or shooting in the street, a massacre of innocents in the yard, overwhelmed with effluviums and promises of immortality. All villains were innocent in this moment of tender herbs, sweet celeries, luscious roots. The eye sped over a snow field where lay fricassees, salmagundis, gumbos, freshly invented succotashes, chowders, ragouts.”
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

“At one-thirty in the deep dark morning, the cooking odors blew up through the windy corridors of the house. Down the stairs, one by one, came women in curlers, men in bathrobes, to tiptoe and peer into the kitchen- lit only by fitful gusts of red fire from the hissing stove. And there in the black kitchen at two of a warm summer morning, Grandma floated like an apparition, amidst bangings and clatterings, half blind once more, her fingers groping instinctively in the dimness, shaking out spice clouds over bubbling pots and simmering kettles, her face in the firelight red, magical, and enchanted as she seized and stirred and poured the sublime foods.
Quiet, quiet, the boarders laid the best linens and gleaming silver and lit candles rather than switch on electric lights and snap the spell.
Grandfather, arriving home from a late evening's work at the printing office, was startled to hear grace being said in the candlelit dining room.
As for the food? The meats were deviled, the sauces curried, the greens mounded with sweet butter, the biscuits splashed with jeweled honey; everything toothsome, luscious, and so miraculously refreshing that a gentle lowing broke out as from a pasturage of beasts gone wild in clover. One and all cried out their gratitude for their loose-fitting night clothes.”
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

“There is no other love that’s as special as the love of a grandma.
So warm and fuzzy, so calm and sweet, so cheerful and joyful.
Grandmas are definitely a special gift from God.
A treasure you must always keep.
Memories that are never fading but always alive and well in our minds.
Forever in my heart, Grandma…”
― Hopal Green

“I call this our Thursday special. We have it regularly."
This was a lie.
In all the years not one single dish resembled another. Was this one from the deep green sea? Had that one been shot from blue summer air? Was it a swimming food or a flying food, had it pumped blood or chlorophyll, had it walked or leaned after the sun? No one knew. No one asked. No one cared.
The most people did was stand in the kitchen door and peer at the baking-powder explosions, enjoy the clangs and rattles and bangs like a factory gone wild where Grandma stared half blindly about, letting her fingers find their way among canisters and bowls.
Was she conscious of her talent? Hardly. If asked about her cooking, Grandma would look down at her hands which some glorious instinct sent on journeys to be gloved in flour, or to plumb disencumbered turkeys, wrist-deep in search of their animal souls. Her gray eyes blinked from spectacles warped by forty years of oven blasts and blinded with strewings of pepper and sage, so she sometimes flung cornstarch over steaks, amazingly tender, succulent steaks! And sometimes dropped apricots into meat loaves, cross-pollinated meats, herbs, fruits, vegetables with no prejudice, no tolerance for recipe or formula, save that at the final moment of delivery, mouths watered, blood thundered in response. Her hands then, like the hands of Great-grandma before her, were Grandma's mystery, delight, and life. She looked at them in astonishment, but let them live their life the way they must absolutely lead it.”
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

“It's a relief to leave unnecessary things. But do the necessary things have to be so heavy?”
― Hiromi Goto, Shadow Life

“On weekdays she cooked large batches of yukgaejang, taking pounds of brisket, bracken root, radishes, garlic, and bean sprouts, and bubbling them into a spicy shredded-beef soup, which she would ladle into small plastic bags and sell to office workers on their lunch breaks.”
― Michelle Zauner, Crying in H Mart

“Grandma saved herself a lot of bother by not being the kind of person you question.”
― Richard Peck, A Long Way from Chicago

“I’m never decent, but I’m always ready for company”
― Lyssa Mia Smith, Revelle

“Jak się ma babcię, to tak, jakby się miało całą armię.
Największym przywilejem wnuka jest świadomość, że ktoś jest zawsze po twojej stronie. Niezależnie od wszystkiego. Nawet kiedy się mylisz. Właściwie to - szczególnie wtedy. Babcia jest tarczą i mieczem.”
― Fredrik Backman, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry

“I can remember Grandma telling stories about little nest makers leaving wards in the wid. The details would shift and change as she got older, but it always involved Saint Vinson's crystal spider and a wandering soul haunted by nightmares.”
― John Michael Bauer, Besnowed

“I can remember Grandma telling stories about little nest makers leaving wards in the wild. The details would shift and change as she got older, but it always involved Saint Vinson's crystal spider and a wandering soul haunted by nightmares.”
― John Michael Bauer, Besnowed

“I'll never forget the heartwarming taste of those doughnuts--- lightly fried in sesame oil, with a delicate sprinkling of poppy seeds and just a dusting of cinnamon and brown sugar.”
― Ito Ogawa, The Restaurant of Love Regained

“ON REFLECTION, I think it was probably my Granny who made me an anarchist.”
― Stuart Christie, My Granny Made Me an Anarchist. The Christie File: Part 1, 1946 - 1964

“But my own style, I'd say, is more homestyle, with Jewish influences? Not kosher cooking; that's a different thing. I'm inspired by traditional Jewish cuisine."
Paper rustled on the other end. "Right, the matzah ball ramen you cooked in your video looked fantastic. We were all drooling in the room!"
I perked up. Forgot that I was naked. Forgot that lately I was a walking disaster. "That's one of my go-tos and will definitely be on my future menu. I've been experimenting lately with putting a spin on kugels..."
As I chattered on, I could practically see my grandma shaking her head at me. Grandma Ruth had cooked up a storm for every Passover, Yom Kippur, and Chanukah, piling her table till it groaned with challah rolls, beef brisket in a ketchup-based sauce, and tomato and cucumber salad so fresh and herby and acidic it could make you feel like summer in the middle of winter.”
― Amanda Elliot, Sadie on a Plate

“The end. I want to tell her this isn't her fault. My decision, my consequences. I've heard her say those words. She'll understand. I want to tell her I'm sorry I couldn't get her out of this mess. I'm sorry I won't be there to see the boy she marries, the family she raise. I'm sorry.
But the only word that leaves me is, 'live.'
The second king's grip keeps me upright. He squeezes my hands. 'She loved you, and my hope is that you will heed her desire to live well, Ten. Live well.”
― Gena Showalter

“Turn eighteen, shoot grandma, crash the truck, storm the school and return to dirt.”
― Steven Magee

“My grandma said, Do good for it is good to do good.”
― Lailah Gifty Akita

“From up here she had a clear view of the garden below. Just next to the wall was the worn bench where Mulan had so often sat with Grandmother, helping her sort vegetables as Nai Nai told fantastic stories of the monkey king, the zodiac animals, the thunder god's wife, and the woman on the moon. When Mulan expressed awe at those adventures, Grandmother told her about the adventures in store for her.
"See how wide your forehead is?" Grandmother would say. "That means you'll travel far and bring back good fortune."
"I will?" Mulan responded, rapt.
"Yes, but it will not be easy," Nai Nai said, and she'd point to a scar on Mulan's temple from a childhood fall. "That scar means you'll struggle and face hardship, but if you persevere, you will overcome it."
How right Grandmother been. During long cold nights in the army, when the ground sent icicles through her hopes, Mulan had clung to Grandmother's words.”
― Livia Blackburne, Feather and Flame

“Happiness is necessary for longevity, said my grandma, Mrs Grace Ayorkor Acquah, she has been blessed with 91 years of existence so far.”
― Lailah Gifty Akita

“A tiny woman who looked very much like a fairy godmother appeared at the entrance to the kitchen with a stack of bedding in her arms. “Would the young man like to stay here for the night?”
He shook his head. No, the young man would not like to stay the night. The young man would prefer not to wake up dead after being smothered in his sleep.
“It’s okay, Gran,” said Simone, who at the very least had proved her desire to keep him alive. “He’s gonna crash at my house.”
“No, he’ll stay here.” Her grandmother’s flinty gaze hadn’t left his face, and he had the distinct feeling if he made a run for it, she’d trip him flat out with zero qualms.
He took the stack of blankets from her. “The couch sounds great.”
― Chandra Blumberg, Stirring Up Love

“My grandma, Mrs. Grace Ayorkor Acquah said, do good, for good is good to do.”
― Lailah Gifty Akita

“Grandma saw our red dog road as a place where I might fall down and get hurt.

But I knew if I did I'd get back up.

And that red dog road would lead me to every place I would ever go in my lifetime.”
― Drema Hall Berkheimer, Running on Red Dog Road: And Other Perils of an Appalachian Childhood

“Grandma saw our red dog road as a place where I might fall down and get hurt.

But I knew if I did, I'd get back up.

And that red dog road would lead me to every place I would ever go in my lifetime.”
― Drema Hall Berkheimer, Running on Red Dog Road: And Other Perils of an Appalachian Childhood

“Gran and I were on a blanket eating one of her famous baguette sandwiches, something with ham and butter and little cornichon pickles. Gran was telling me how to pronounce "jambon aux beurre," the French name for a ham and butter sandwich.”
― Victoria Benton Frank, My Magnolia Summer