“My spirit is sad – I carry the tears of my ancestors.”

Love is the music of life.

Let everything go, let gratitude take you to new heights.

Only the moon knows all the secrets I tell her about you.

I am the messenger of my ancestors.

You made me believe I had to be perfect to be loved.

I can’t un-feel the trauma – it’s in my blood.

Love is the strongest force in the world – the reason god created everything.

If I was left with even less, but had him, then I’d still have everything.

Only god can bring dry bones back to life.

My weakness was loving you before loving myself.

Conditional love is not love.

Broken glass taught me there is something so beautiful in shattering.

Letting go is an art – master it and be free.

Only the moon knows all the secrets I tell her about you.

I can’t un-feel the trauma – it’s in my blood.

Your pride won’t let you love.

When my ancestors came from Africa, they were shackled by our neck, our wrists, and our ankles in steel chains.

Each has his own tree of ancestors, but at the top of all sits Probably Arboreal.

Baseball, more than any other sport, has a magical way of connecting fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, grandparents and grandchildren and ancestors back down the line. – From The Brooklyn Nine

But if people want to swim in the Thames, if they want to take their lives into their own hands, then they should be able to do so with all the freedom and exhilaration of our woad-painted ancestors.

Ancestor worship, or filial piety so characteristic of Asian cultures, for example, does not really resonate with Americans who favor children, not grandparents.

After all, our families–our ancestors–are our identities. Biology is destiny.

We are all motivated far more than we care to admit by characteristics inherited from our ancestors which individual experiences of childhood can modify, repress, or enhance, but cannot erase.

We live always under the weight of the old and odious customs… of our barbarous ancestors.