Jean-Michel Jarre Quotes

My mother never took my hand.

I love my son, but I was never there for him, so I understand why he hates me.

Disillusionment in living is finding that no one can really ever be agreeing with you completely in anything.

My relationship with my father is pretty non-existent.

Loneliness is never more cruel than when it is felt in close propinquity with someone who has ceased to communicate.

I never was coddled, or liked, or understood by my family.

I never had a real conversation with my father.

Father knew me not. All my aspirations in life were a sealed book to him, as much as his peculiar religious experiences were to me.

My family - it wasn't an abusive family - they meant well, but they were in their own world.

I didn't feel a strong bond with the parents who raised me, and I had anything but a happy childhood. My mother was overly sensitive; my father, ascetic. I was neither. I felt as if I were living with complete strangers. I suspect that my parents felt the same way.

We weren't the kind of family that talked about our problems. We were a close family, in a kind of faraway way. It wasn't a being-with-each-other kind of close. We all went our own ways.

I built up so much hatred for my parents, like so much anger for the life they had given me.

My father never really encouraged me or even took an interest after I walked away from the family business. No one did except my mother and my grandfather. To be truthful, I cannot remember one meaningful conversation I had with my father.

I can expect no sympathy or help from my family.

He was slumped in the back, gazing out of the window, as though his parents were two people who had picked him up hitchhiking, connected to him merely by chance and proximity.

Her face crashes. She hasn't dealt with a single transfusion or lumbar puncture. She wasn't allowed near me for the bone-marrow transplant, but she could have been there for any number of diagnoses, and wasn't. Even her promises to visit more often have faded away with Christmas. It's her turn to taste some reality.

I was only ever briefly angry with my dad for leaving us. It happened shortly after his death, when things were at their darkest and the grief in me was raw and at its worst.

I don't speak with my mother. Whenever I wanted to talk about my problems, she would just ask me when I was going to send her more money.

I don't know what's the matter with me, why I'm so adept at distance, why I feel so remote from things, why life feels like a rumor.

I spent my 21st birthday chatting with my online friends because my husband had little interest in celebrating with me, and there was no other group of people I'd rather spend time with, even if they weren't there with me in person.

All my mother ever wanted to talk about was what she hated about my father and the times he cheated on her when he was younger. It really irritated me, and I told them they had to sort things out between themselves. Looking back on that, I see that it was really cold of me as a son.

I've never been super close to family. I've never relied on anyone.

I am truly a "lone traveler" and have never belonged to my country, my home, my friends, or even my immediate family, with my whole heart.

To feel abandoned is to deny the intimacy of your surroundings.

Our disappointment sits between us.