Quotes About Mother

In some women Elvis saw a replica of his mother. He rushed to them, wanting to be absorbed within their boundaries as completely as with his mother. His courting rituals reenacted his and Gladys's lethal dance of enmeshment. His heart, worn throbbing on his sleeve, still belonged to Mama.

We should take mothers in high seas and drown them there, they are as poisonous as lead in the air.

From downstairs his mother called, "Sammy, you're not going out on the roof, are you?" "No," he yelled back. I am out, he told himself, making in his mind a fine distinction.

The steamy, noisy kitchen was the safest place in the world, it seemed to him. Safety had never been anything to think about before; it was something you took for granted, like his mother's endless, effortless, generous food, and the fact that there would always be hot plates ready to serve it on.

But how will I get out? And all at once the door was open--and there was Seldon and behind him his mother. How'd you do that? I said. I opened the door, he said. But how? He shrugged. I pushed. I just pushed. It was open all the time. And that was when I began to bawl and Mrs. Wishnow took me in her arms and said, That's okay. Things like this happen. They can happen to anyone.

She was so deeply imbedded in my consciousness that for the first year of school I seem to have believed that each of my teachers was my mother in disguise.

Mamma, don't you see -- you shouldn't hit me. He shouldn't hit me. You shouldn't hit me about God, Mamma. You should never hit anybody about God . . . .

Ordinarily my mother drew no strength from scorn

The accident of a wrong turn had brought me there, and all I did by getting out of the car and entering the cemetery to find her grave was to bow to its impelling force. My mother and the other dead had been brought here by the impelling force of what was, after all, a more unlikely accident–having once lived

It is said a man doesn't get old while his mother lives. I think it's true. You are always a child in her eyes. It is irritating in the extreme. But you know, when they have gone, you'd give the earth just to hear them treating you like a child once more.

i feel bad for her - i do. a damn shame, really, that i had to have a mother. it can't be easy having me for a son. nothing can prepare someone for that kind of disappointment.

In the next election, I'm voting for your mom to be the next God.

My mother said I should have a 'change of scenery.' The word scenery made be think of a play. And as we were driving around, it made sense that way. Because no matter how much the scenery changed, we were still on the same stage.

I'm still upset with my mother, though. And scared. If you lose me, I remember her saying when I was little and we'd go to a department store, just let one of those salesladies know, and they will take you to where I can find you. Even though I'm seventeen, I guess I still thought this would always be true-- that there would always be that lost-and-found, and not the lost-and-still-lost that I am now trapped inside.

Hang out? his mother said. Sweetheart, laundry hangs out.

No existe nada más doloroso que contemplar a alguien cuando pierde la confianza en ti. En especial, si se trata de tu madre.

His mother's expression softens. "Do you need anything?" she asks. For a moment, Craig's heart feels entirely porous. Not because his mother has asked such a monumental question, but because it's such an ordinary one. This is the mother he knows. Do you need anything? As if she were running to Walgreens or the grocery store. As if nothing has changed.

This is the pain that will inform all other pains from now on. You have lost your mother. That is the primal pain, what we call it in German. There will never be another pain like this pain. You cannot ready yourself for it because it is unimaginable.

The whole notion of the nursing home was something dreamed up by people like my mother; American women with sunglasses, always searching for their tanning lotion or cigarette lighters.

between the disfigurement and the muzzle, it's nearly impossible to catch what she's saying. Always, though, while tripping and stumbling to the music, she looks out into her audience and tells the story about her mother. Most people laugh and yell for her to lift her skirts, but every so often she'll spot someone weeping and swear they can understand her every word.

Our mother became the living ghost that haunted it, gaunt now and rattling ice cubes instead of chains.

I noticed my mother's face assume an expression she reserved for unspeakable horror. I had seen this look only twice before: once when she was caught in the path of a charging, rabid pig and then again when I told her I wanted a peach-colored velveteen blazer with matching slacks.

It occurred to me then that my mother was a better actor than I ever hoped to be. Acting is different that posing or pretending. When done with precision, it bears a striking resemblance to lying. Stripped of the costumes and grand gestures, it presents itself as as an unquestionable truth.

A child came to Santa this morning and his mother said, "All right, Jason. Tell Santa what you want. Tell him what you want." Jason said, "I … want … Prokton and … Gamble to … stop animal testing." The mother said, "Proctor, Jason, that's Proctor and Gamble. And what do they do to animals? Do they torture animals, Jason? Is that what they do?" Jason said, Yes, they torture. He was probably six years old.