Quotes About Mother

His mother laughed. "Go along with you now. Save your sweet-tongued blarney for the likes of Kathleen.

According to Ovid (F, 4, 259 f.), the Sibyl said: The Mother is far off: I command you, Roman, to go and seek the Mother. When she arrives, let a chaste hand receive her.

If the divine is also female, and the female also divine, then she understands that woman is more than mother, more than daughter, more than wife. Those are the facets of a full life, but no single facet defines the jewel.

Dutiful was still standing there with his jaw slightly ajar. I shrugged at him. "There's no use arguing with Burrich. It's like arguing with your mother. Let's go.

I bear a deep red stain that runs from my left shoulder down to my right hip, a trail left by the herbwitch's poison that my mother used to try to expel me from her womb.

At her mother's words, Molly felt herself go hot and cold and hot again, in quick succession.

The still air smelled of sweetgrass hanging from the rafters. What words can capture that smell? The fragrance of your mother's newly washed hair as she holds you close, the melancholy smell of summer slipping into fall, the smell of memory that makes you close your eyes for a moment, and then a moment longer.

We are thankful to our Mother the Earth, for she gives us everything that we need for life. She supports our feet as we walk about upon her. It gives us joy that she still continues to care for us, just as she has from the beginning of time. To our Mother, we send thanksgiving, love, and respect. Now our minds are one.

My work as an ecologist, a writer, a mother, as a traveler between scientific and traditional ways of knowing, grows from the power of those words. It reminds me of who we are; it reminds me of our gifts and our responsibility to those gifts. Ceremony is a vehicle for belonging—to a family, to a people, and to the land.

I like to imagine that they were the first flowers I saw, over my mother's shoulder, as the pink blanket slipped away from my face and their colors flooded my consciousness. I've heard that early experience can attune the brain to certain stimuli, so that they are processed with greater speed and certainty, so that they can be used again and again, so that we remember. Love at first sight.

It is the fundamental unfairness of parenthood that if we do our jobs well, the deepest bond we are given will walk out the door with a wave over the shoulder. We get good training along the way. We learn to say "Have a great time, sweetie" while we are longing to pull them back to safety. And against all the evolutionary imperatives of protecting our gene pool, we give them car keys. And freedom. It's our job. And I wanted to be a good mother.

After the drumbeat of my mother's heart, this was my first language.

That mother of men was made to wander in the wilderness and earn her bread by the sweat of her brow, not by filling her mouth with the sweet juicy fruits that bend the branches low.

My mother had her own more pragmatic ritual of respect: the translation of reverence and intention into action.

We should think about naming your new playmate," she said. "I have a suggestion," he said. "Emma." "I like Emma," she said. "Old girlfriend?" "Mother. My mother," he said. "Aw, that's sweet. I think your mother would be happy you're finally serious." "Mel?

She's such a lovely woman, he'd tell me time and time again. I'd nod, because my mom is such a lovely woman. And charming and smart. Can't argue with any of that. She's also a fucking wack job.

While he bore no real resemblance to anyone in my family, his features were a collection of my mother's and father's best attributes, with a few of Gregory Peck's thrown in.

Alice was back, the landlord was evicting her, and she was out of dog food. She hadn't felt so totally at a loss since the day her mother had passed. And her employees were staring at her, momentarily speechless.

My mother thinks my apartment is too big, but I fill it with my ego

There is only one perfect child in the world and every mother has him.

When she reaches the ground, she looks from the old woman to me. A moment of confusion. Then recognition. I know her too, because I've seen traces of her in my face in the mirror. My mother. My a-ma.

You have been a good mother to your children, but now you must be an even better and stronger mother. Children are hope and joy. On land, you will be a mother. In the sea, you can be a grieving widow. Your tears will be added to the oceans of salty tears that wash in great waves across our planet. This I know. If you try to live, you can live on well.

it is composed of two characters. The first means pain; the second means love. That is a mother's love.

You can love your mother, and she still might leave you. You can love or hate the sea, but it will always be there. Forever. The sea has been the center of her life. It has nurtured her and stolen from her, but it has never left.