Quotes About Mother

I have a very close relationship with my mom, and I'm able to talk to her about anything.

Die Mutter winkte noch lange mit dem Taschentuch. Dann drehte sie sich langsam um und ging nach Hause. Und weil sie das Taschentuch sowieso schon in der Hand hielt, weinte sie gleich ein bißchen.

Ah! Mother, Mother! You still think I am a child - why can I not put my head in your lap and weep? Why have I always to be strong and self-controlled? I would like to weep and be comforted too, indeed I am little more than a child; in the wardrobe still hang short, boy's trouser - it is such a little time ago, why is it over?

Below there are cyclists, lorries, men; it is a grey street and a grey subway;—it affects me as though it were my mother.

And be very careful at the front, Paul." Ah, Mother, Mother! Why do I not take you in my arms and die with you. What poor wretches we are!

What is leave?—A pause that only makes everything after it so much worse. Already the sense of parting begins to intrude itself. My mother watches me silently; I know she counts the days; every morning she is sad. It is one day less. She has put away my pack, she does not want to be reminded by it.

Ah! Mother, Mother! You still think I am a child - why can I not put my head in your lap and weep? Why have I always to be strong and self-controlled? I would like to weep and be comforted too, indeed I am little more than a child; in the wardrobe still hang short, boy's trousers - it is such a little time ago, why is it over?

I breathe deeply and say over to myself:- You are at home, you are at home. But a sense of strangeness will not leave me, I cannot feel at home amongst these things. There is my mother, there is my sister, there my case of butterflies, and there the mahogany piano - but I am not myself there. There is a distance, a veil between us.

Thus the Great Mother is uroboric: terrible and devouring, beneficent and creative; a helper, but also alluring and destructive; a maddening enchantress, yet a bringer of wisdom; bestial and divine, voluptuous harlot and inviolable virgin, immemori-ally old and eternally young.4

Later, a passenger reported seeing a woman giving birth in the water. The idea that this might have been his mother would haunt the boy for the rest of his life.

There's something wrong with a mother who washes out a measuring cup with soap and water after she's only measured water in it.

Being a child at home alone in the summer is a high-risk occupation. If you call your mother at work thirteen times an hour, she can hurt you.

Dentuso, he thought. Bad luck to your mother.

marks on his firstborn son. More often than not, Garth chose to take the blows to protect his helpless mother and his younger brother. Terry Real, who has written extensively about men in relationships, describes a particular "unholy triangle" between "the powerful, irresponsible, and/or abusive father, the codependent, downtrodden wife, and the sweet son caught in the middle.

A little girl lay flung back in her mother's lap as though sleep had struck her with a blow.

When, sometime later, Laurel asked about the bell, her mother replied calmly that how good a bell was depended on the distance away your children had gone.

It was examinations (in school) that drove my wits away, as all emergencies do. Being expected to measure up was paralysing. It was never that Mother wanted me to beat my classmates in grades, what she wanted was for me to have my answers right. It was unclouded perfection I was up against.

Each of us learns to do this, Wordsworth said, in his first experience of love, when his soul "drinks in the feelings of his Mother's eye!

Yes. You can see this in the womb, where one fetus takes nutrients from another, causing varying birth weights. In vanishing twin syndrome, probably one in ten pregnancies results in a twin, but one is absorbed by the other. Did the mother cause this? Did the evil twin? If so, the evil twin always wins.

I deeply adored my mum. She was an extraordinary person, even for the prejudice I'm likely to have. She was beautiful, amusing, a tremendous elaborator of things into comic proportions and extravagant in her imagination.

My mother was predominately a stay-at-home mom.

We are the children of Mother Nature. And though we do not respect our mother, though we often worry her and cause her pain, though we break her heart, she loves us.

My mother? No, Calanthe. I presume she had a choice… Or perhaps she didn't? No, but she did; a suitable spell or elixir would have been sufficient… A choice. A choice which should be respected, for it is the holy and irrefutable right of every woman.

How does it happen, thought Ciri, what can it be ascribed to, that in all worlds, places and times, in all languages and dialects that one word always sounds comprehensible? And always similar? "Yes. I must ride to my mamma. My mamma is waiting for me.