Quotes About Mother

Kit [to Claire]: Our Ma was a brilliant wee woman, wasn't she?

In fact, the first hug I ever remember getting from my mother was the day I left for prison.

God's love intercedes for us even as a mother intercedes for her child. — Pat Miller —

Everyone who makes up proverbs will say of you, "Like mother, like daughter." —Ezekiel 16:44

If his mother hadn't begun to see him and forced the divorce, Brian wouldn't be here now. He

My mother cranes her neck. Her ability to be fascinated by things is her best gift to me.

My mother is changing history. She is making her balalaika-smashing mother into a heroine. Does she want me to do the same for her? Is that what good children do for their parents? What about good writers?

Easter would be coming soon, but her mother was still dead.

But what kind of profession is this, writer?" my mother would ask. "You want to be this?" I want to be this.

We are, after all, an animal that was brought into being on this biosphere by these processes of sun and water and lead. And if we depart too far from them, we're departing too far from the mother, from our heritage.

My mother, daroga, my poor, unhappy mother would never... let me kiss her... She used to run away... and throw me my mask!... Nor any other woman... ever, ever!... Ah, you can understand, my happiness was so great, I cried. And fell at her feet, crying... and I kissed her feet... her little feet... crying. You're crying, too, daroga... and she cried also... the angel cried!...

Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Her hair was golden as the sun's rays and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes. She wheedled her mother, was kind to her doll, took great care of her frock and her little red shoes and her fiddle, but most of all loved, when she went to sleep, to hear the Angel of Music.

I am the Mother of Faces. Through me, separateness came into the world. Through me, cam identity. The one became the many.

You think whatever is wrong with you is contagious, then?' She laughed again. 'Yes, but you have it already. You caught it from your mother. Death.

What good is this gift of speech, except that I can curse myself. Good mother of all the beasts, take it from me. I would be as I was, and shout wordless among the hills. Reason shows reason can only bring pain - how wise to forget and be happy again!

You think whatever is wrong with you is contagious, then?' ... 'Yes, but you hae it already. You caught it from your mother. Death.

The most painful thing about the woman whose mother did not want her was not her mothers lack of love, but that in seeing herself the way her mother saw her, she cut herself off from her own love. We believe that because being wanted and being seen and being loved once depended on someone else, they still do.

If an imaginative boy has a sufficiently rich mother who has intelligence, personal grace, dignity of character without harshness, and a cultivated sense of the best art of her time to enable her to make her house beautiful, she sets a standard for him against which very few women can struggle, besides effecting for him a disengagement of his affections, his sense of beauty, and his idealism from his specifically sexual impulses.

Playing! The hardest job I ever tackled: make no mistake about that, mother. But you have no idea how frightfully interesting it is to take a human being and change her into a quite different human being by creating a new speech for her. It's filling up the deepest gulf that separates class from class and soul from soul.

No one knew where wandering men had their homes or their origin; and how was a man to be explained unless you at least knew somebody who knew his father and mother?

the mother too often standing behind the daughter like a malignant prophecy—Such as I am, she will shortly be.

How should all the apparatus of heaven and earth, from the farthest firmament to the tender bosom of the mother who nourished us, make poetry for a mind that had no movements of awe and tenderness, no sense of fellowship which thrills from the near to the distant, and back again from the distant to the near?

In the love of a brave and faithful man there is always a strain of maternal tenderness; he gives out again those beams of protecting fondness which were shed on him as he lay on his mother's knee.

her own questions about her mother could not have been parried, as she grew up, without the complete shrouding of the past which would have made a painful barrier between their minds.