Quotes About Mother

All that day and into the night, my mother knelt before her altar, before the icon of the Virgin, before the candles burning, and rolled her rosary between her hands, beating her chest and calling for mercy, for some intercession. As I watched her, I realized that she could see death, and I too, and it wasn't some ugly skeleton with a scythe--death is a beautiful woman, eyes soft from morning dew, lips pulled back in the saddest smile, praying at an altar for her husband's life.

I wanted to tell you that I was so sad I felt as if I might be happy, or in love, simply because such powerful feelings can appear the same to the naive. I was mighty with grief, and I thought I should be empowered by it. I thought my hands should shine with a yellow light, and that should I reach out to touch our mother on the head, I would call her back from the place she'd gone.

My mother taught me to treat a lady respectfully.

The only reason we were married in such haste was that my mother begged me not to marry Andrew at all. One of you in a marriage has to be soft , she said. One of you has to know how to say, Have it your way . That's not going to be you, dear, so it might as well be the man.

Her mother set to with the hairbrush again. "But would that be so awful, darling? To be the prettiest thing in Brimscombe-and-Thrupp?" "I should rather die." "You nearly did." "Yes, but I tend to blame the Germans.

Oh, I don't know. Italy always seemed an awfully long way to go for fascism and olives." "I rather like olives." "Mother rather liked fascism. We had to burn all the photographs when war was declared." They

If so, did the law of "finders keepers, losers weepers" apply? Because if Billy could find the gold or jewels or winning Mega Millions Lotto cards—whatever treasure Dr. Libris had hidden on his island—he could buy himself a new iPhone. He could also pay for some of his father's silly toys and maybe get his mom a bunch of those blueberry pies she said she liked so much.

As for why the three Keeley brothers were running around their neighborhood on a Sunday afternoon like crazed lunatics, grabbing all sorts of wacky stuff, well, it was their mother's fault. She was the one who had suggested, "If you boys are bored, play a board game!" So Kyle had gone down into the basement and dug up one of his all-time favorites: Mr. Lemoncello's Indoor-Outdoor Scavenger Hunt. It had been a huge hit for Mr. Lemoncello, the master game maker.

The saddest thing is when the toilet from an abandoned space station falls back to earth, lands upside-down on a child who was playing alone in the backyard, and smooshes them into the shape of half a hard-boiled egg. ...And when they lift the toilet off of the child, two lips at the top of the bloody mound say, on their dying breath, "I love you, mommy.

Wie gefällt dir meine Mutter?« fragte er leise in ihr Ohr. Und Lela, ohne ihn anzusehen, antwortete: »Sie ist wunder-, wunderschön.« Mehr konnte sie um alles in der Welt nicht sagen, sonst hätte sie geweint.

think, again, of my mother opening her front door to a Swedish sailor, the stuff of fairy tales: Rapunzel letting down her hair, Cinderella sliding her foot into the glass slipper, Sleeping Beauty awaiting a kiss. All were given one chance to step into a happily ever after—or at least it must've seemed that way. But was it the prince who attracted them, or merely the opportunity for escape?

When the breakfast dishes are cleared, she starts on the large midday meal: chicken pie or pot roast or fish stew; mashed or boiled potatoes; peas or carrots, fresh or canned, depending on the season. What's left over reappears at supper, transformed into a casserole or a stew. Mother

Every Easter she and her mother planted those crocuses near the fence beside the driveway, and soon enough a whole cluster of them, white and purple and pink, sprang annually like magic

When I was seventeen I went to college to escape my father's impotent rage and my mother's infinite capacity for forgiveness.

The doctor] asked if I knew what might be causing my headaches. I looked her squarely in the face and said to her directly: "Yes, I hate my mother." That was the end of the interview. That was also the end of my visits to the doctor. That was not the end of my headaches.

Witch mothers are more likely to bring their children for treatment than to seek help for themselves. They project their own pathology onto their child, and often expect the child to be institutionalized. Because the no-good child is the target of the Witch's projections of self-hatred, the mother may wish for the child to be sent away.

The borderline's children are preoccupied with what researchers call "risk assessment"—with determining the nature of their mother's state of mind from one moment to the next. It is an unconscious and involuntary process, like breathing. They do not realize they are doing it.

Attacks by the Witch mother are like tornadoes: random, devastating, and unpredictable. Naturally, her children are on constant alert for changes in the atmosphere that might indicate when and where she will "Turn.

Children who live with a predatory mother become unconsciously preoccupied with reading their mother's moods. A fleeting glance, a furtive gesture, deceleration, and a shift of direction are signals of an approaching Turn. Bracing, hiding, or merely holding on gives children a much-needed sense of control. Shutting down, avoiding eye contact, and getting away are other means of establishing control.

The relationship between a borderline mother and her child may change dramatically when the child is approximately 2 years old, begins to speak, and expresses a separate will. The mother's anxiety intensifies because the child is no longer totally dependent and cannot be completely controlled.

Upon entering therapy, adult children of borderlines are initially reluctant to discuss their childhood experiences. Several patients developed psychosomatic symptoms such as feeling a lump in their throat or experienced panic attacks following sessions during which they discussed their mother.

Therapists sometimes warn family members not to depend on the person with BPD to validate their self-worth, yet young children have no choice. They can and will do anything to hold onto the good mother (the loving, caring person) who unpredictably turns into the Witch mother (the terrifying, raging beast).

As i thought about all that surgar running through her veins, i imagined it as a kind of liquid candy. But when i asked her if it tasted sweet, she laughed quietly and said no. It stung, she said. But she needed it. She had to have it. All i could imagine was that candied water burning inside my mother. Like an invisible fire that i could not see or taste or touch or stop.

The last time Charles saw it, the crown was sitting atop his mother's coffin.