Goldberg Mom Quotes

Thanks, Mom. Thanks for making me try out for this play.' I think I might have just made being a mother totally worthwhile for her. I will try to never forget her face...Mom's got tears in her eyes and she's smiling. It's an amazing look. I have to remember how powerful it can be to say thank you. Especially to the people you live with.

I don't eat the sandwich that Mom made for me, but luckily Randy finishes his and is happy to take mine, too, so I won't get yelled at for wasting food. There is nothing worse in my mom's eyes. I guess murder would be worse, but I think she believes the first step toward a violent life is being a food-waster.

Because my mom was open to it and encouraged it, I started going on stage around age eight at the Hudson Guild Theatre in Chelsea. The shows were performed in the auditorium of the

I think that’s my new mission: to be more appreciative of my days, like my mom.

Because of my mom, I was able to go from being Caryn Johnson, the “little weird kid” from

My dad takes most of the pictures in our family, and he makes scrapbooks. This means he gets to figure out what's important for us to remember... I guess my mom could make a scrapbook, but she doesn't. And I could do it and so could my brothers, but then we would need extra pictures. Plus we're just kids and we don't have time for that. I know the scrapbooks we'd make would be different from Dad's. But the person who does the work gets to write the history.

Remember what the fashion big mouths were saying about Jessica Simpson? Looking at her magazine pictures, sucking their teeth, going, "Oh, look at her in her 'mom jeans.'" Know what? That is an unnecessarily cheap shot at her and kinda lousy to moms at the same time. Who the hell are they to say that? What gratification does it give them to be mean at someone's expense? People made nasty comments like that about President Obama. They made an issue of his jeans when he threw out the first ball at the All-Star game in St. Louis. Why? Who was he bothering? Come on. The tabloids, celebrity mags, and TV entertainment shows do fashion critiques all the time. But it's not about fashion, it's about trashin'. Their specialty is "Celebrity Cellulite!"--running unflattering pictures of stars at the beach and saying who should give up the bikini and go for the one-piece. And this is acceptable? This is a mark of journalism in a civil society, to take ambush pictures of people at the beach? And if the camera was turned around and pointed the other way, what would that look like?

Trump is an unintentional master of the art of rectal ventriloquism. No, I don’t mean he’s a champion farter. I mean he talks out of his ass, and the words magically start coming out of other peoples’ mouths. He says eminent domain is wonderful and suddenly conservatives start saying, “Yeah, it’s wonderful!” He floats a new entitlement for child care and almost instantaneously people once opposed to it start bragging about how sensitive they are to the plight of working moms. He says Social Security needs to be more generous and days later once proud tea partiers are saying the same thing, and the rest of us are left to marvel how we didn’t even see Trump’s lips, or cheeks, move. This is a perfect example of the corrupting effect of populism and personality cults. I keep mentioning my favorite line from William Jennings Bryan: “The people of Nebraska are for free silver and I am for free silver. I will look up the arguments later.” For many Trump supporters, the rule of the day is, “Donald Trump is for X and I am for X. I will look up the arguments later (if ever).

And those deadbeat fathers weren’t supporting their kids, either.” Her mom had terrible taste in men, and poor judgment, and was the maker of most of her own troubles, but Eve wasn’t going to concede a thing to this man. For the sake of this discussion, her mom was a saint.

I had always coveted darker-skinned women their color. There was a mystery to their beauty that I found hypnotizing, Siren-like. They were hardly ever in Jet or Ebony or Essence, the magazines we subscribed to, unless they themselves were famous—the mom from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, Whoopi Goldberg, Jackie Joyner, Oprah. Most of the Black women the public pronounced beautiful looked like Mama. Black Barbies. Bright. Hair wavier than curly. Petite figures.

I got into drug rehab and that got me into my first marriage. At age eighteen, I married my drug counselor. He was a great guy, and getting married made sense to me at the time, even though I remember my mom asking me, “Are you sure this is something you want to go through with?

seemed to be in love with me, so I didn’t question it. A year later my mom was dropping me off at the hospital to give birth to my daughter. In the ’70s, you had to go into the delivery room

our cross-country drive, it started to seem like a crazy idea. But like my mom always taught me, I had to live with my choice. From the time I left high school, I only wanted to act,

Her whole day-to-day perspective was to live in the most practical manner possible. For my mom, that meant not

It’s television, dear. Nobody expects it to be real, just convincing.” Eve was about to tell her mom that her life is real, that her cases are real, that not everything on TV is scripted and performed, but then she thought about that press conference and realized she was wrong.

Jen ended up as a single parent with three children fathered by three different men who were in the entertainment industry, too. Eve spent her teenage years trying to bring order to the chaos at home, raising her two younger siblings while her mom was off chasing roles and men. Eve resented her mother, her absentee father, and Hollywood for stealing her childhood.

I saw you on TV.” Jen had a scratchy voice that men found sexy. She got it by smoking Marlboros for years. Eve wondered if men would still find her mom’s voice so sexy when she was dragging around an oxygen tank. “It’s smart of you to stay in the public eye.