Quotes About Mother

He also wearied his mother very often. She saw the sunshine going out of him, and she resented it.

Then he told her the budget of the day. His life-story, like an Arabian Nights, but much duller, was told night after night to his mother. It was almost as if it were her own life.

There was no Time, only Space. Who could say his mother had lived and did not live? She had been in one place, and was in another, that was all. And his soul could not leave her, wherever she was. Now she was gone abroad into the night, and he was with her still. They were together.

The children lay silent in suspense, waiting for a lull in the wind to hear what their father was doing. He might hit their mother again... And then, came the horror of the sudden silence: silence everywhere, outside, and downstairs. What was it?- was it a silence of blood? What had he done.

We drank a cup of tea and ate a little umeboshi cake. I still remember the nice taste of that little cake in the shape of the sour umeboshi plum. Nothing special happened—we just sat there, eating that cake—but I felt really comfortable. That memory is very clear for me. Spending the day with my mother, just being present with her. No disturbance, no brothers there, just my mother and I, just living.

Who gets the change? the clerk asked. You or...your fella? Oh, he's not my boyfriend, I said. He's my mother.

Your mother mentioned she had a little girl. These are for you, sweetheart. Just a little something, heh heh. He handed me a wrinkled paper bag with a grease spot on it. I hate it when you could hear a person's saliva right in their laugh.

If you squinted while looking at her from across a room, you would swear Mrs. Nord was Jackie Kennedy. My own mother sat alone on Bobolink Drive all day, talking to her parakeet, Petey, and worrying about dead children. Around the time of our move to Bobolink Drive, I stopped kissing my mother on the lips. It had been over four years since she'd lost the baby.

Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome? Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all, I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.

And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.

school, she refused to sign the adoption papers. The standoff lasted weeks, even after the baby had settled into the

Doug Engelbart demonstrate his oNLine System, made famous at the Mother of All Demos

This distinction was very important to him: His mother did love him but not enough to save him.

The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao. The name that can be named is not the eternal name. The Tao is both named and nameless. As nameless it is the origin of all things; as named it is the Mother of 10,000 things. Ever desireless, one can see the mystery; ever desiring, one sees only the manifestations. And the mystery itself is the doorway to all understanding.

Looking over the brightly-jacketed novels, he thought of the volumes at home in his father's library, the books that had never been taken away when his father left and still remained in the shelves in his mother's house: the salesman-sets his father had always fallen for—the green Kiplings, the blue de Maupassants, the maroon Bjornsons (who the hell was he anyway and why a whole set of him?),

I had a little insight into life that most kids probably didn't have. My mother was a schoolteacher, and my father was a social worker. Through his eyes I saw the underside of society.

This is an amazing thing about infants. They can sense that mother is needy, and can eventually detect her specific needs and begin providing them for her. Of course, this carries a major price—the denial, stifling and stunting of the infant's own True Self or Child Within.

Tell me what you'll do if you're captured by the coyotes... Well, that might work, but does your mother live near here?

Marcie, hai una macchina per cucire! Non è mia capo… È di mia madre. Perché non mi fai un costume da pattinaggio, Marcie? Io non so cucire, capo… Ecco! Puoi farmi un costume rosso con tanti lustrini! Non sei una che ascolta, vero, capo?

harsh winters. If this calf was born in May or June of last year, it might have been eight months old now. The cow, its mother, was

ever called her child.) The poor creature told her frankly all the matter, not without dropping out infinite numbers of diamonds. "In good faith," cried the mother, "I must send my child thither. Come hither, Fanny, look what comes out of thy sister's mouth when she speaks!

Beggar Woman" When I was four years old my mother led me to the park. The spring sunshine was not too warm. The street was almost empty. The witch in my fairy-book came walking along. She stooped to fish some mouldy grapes out of the gutter.

My mother was a braid of black smoke. She bore me swaddled over the burning cities. The sky was a vast and windy place for a child to play. We met many others who were just like us. They were trying to put on their overcoats with arms made of smoke. The high heavens were full of little shrunken deaf ears instead of stars.

My mother had said to me afterward, "Your father is a fool." When I asked her why, she'd shrugged. "Men generally are," she'd retorted, and changed the subject.