Quotes About Mother

How often a mother initiated a conversation with her child was not predictive of the language outcomes—what mattered was, if the infant initiated, whether the mom responded.

My mother smoked too but I guessed by now she had quit the habit, which was, I supposed, one of the advantages of being shipwrecked.

I think part of her feared that if Mother could leave her that way, she must be unlovable. And of course, she wasn't.

People talk about nature as a mother, but to me she's always been Medea, ready and willing to slaughter her children.

Myrnin to Claire: Claire, there are things to do. Here, too, and I'm staying here, believe me. Myrnin was silent for a beat, and then he said, Bob would be very disappointed in you. Bob the spider? He looks at you like a mother, you know. I'm surprised at your lack of work ethic. Think of the example you set for - She hung up.

And as life began in the sea, so each of us begins his identical life in a miniature ocean within his mother's womb.

They say that necessity is the mother of invention, but it is also the grandmother of desperation.

Don't you love your mother, dear? I guess so. A hard, sharp, thorny kind of love that might be pity more than anything else.

As I turned to leave the tent, she said, Don't worry. Your own mother wouldn't know you. I said, She never has.

It was a terrible thing when death first entered the world, and even now when it's the way of nature, it's terrible beyond words. Whether it comes for your mother by her own hands or for a stranger who can say nothing in defense of himself except that his watch is solid gold, standing witness to death leaves you desolate - Addison Goldheart pg. 116

Asshole." "Your mother never taught you words like that." "You don't know my mother," she said thickly.

When I was a child, which was a shorter period of time for me than it was for most people, my mother sometimes implied that she might take me with her if she decided to consummate her romance with Death. My mother is beautiful, and to anyone who never lived with her, she seems to be a genteel and pleasant lady, if slightly aloof.

Through Arthur Willott's dream of alien contact and adventure, you found a doorway out of your despair, an escape from a crushing sense of having failed your mother and father.

He needed some aromatherapy to clear his mind. He needed some time in the sauna. He felt stupid. He had never before felt stupid. His mother said stupidity should be a capital offense, except with so many stupid people everywhere you looked, there wouldn't be enough steel in the world to build all the necessary guillotine blades or enough executioners to operate them.

She'd been only four, much too little to understand what was happening, when her mother walked out. She hardly remembered Michelle. Yet the loss was still with her, not really a pain, more like an emptiness, as if something that ought to be inside of her were missing. She worried that more losses would leave other empty spaces in her, until she would be as hollow as a shell from which the egg had been drained through a pinhole.

Libby believes that she hears her mother's voice submerged in the louder shriek

being the mother of the new race, for she will bear many offspring, children who will be formed in Shacket's image, blessed with his superior genes. They won't be merely children, but demigods incorporating the diverse attributes of many species.

A child can love a mother who has no capacity to love him in return, but in time, he realizes that he is pouring his affection not on fertile ground but on rock, where nothing can be grown. A child might then spend a life defined by settled anger or by self-pity. If the mother is not a monster, if she is instead emotionally disconnected and self-absorbed, and if she

Because Mitch would not have life without his mother and because her cluelessness did not encompass malice, she inspired a tenderness that was not love or even affection. It was instead a sad regard for her congenital incapacity for sentiment. This tenderness had nearly ripened into the pity that he withheld from his father.

Cookies,Emily explained. There isn't a man alive who doesn't appreciate homemade cookies. There's something magical about them--really, she added when Suzannah cast her a doubtful glance.Cookies create an aura of domestic bliss--it sounds crazy, but it's true.A man can't resist a woman who bakes him cookies. They remind him of home and mother and a fire crackling in the fireplace.

The minute I set eyes on your mother, I felt this thing happen in my gut, like the flu bug hit me worse than any sickness I've ever had, worse than the bubonic plague." His love analogy could use a little work…

once heard it explained that being near the ocean, with the surf and the swirling waters, was like being tucked inside a mother's womb.

These unwelcome feelings could be attributed, Mary realized, to her mother's death this past February.

People entering the bars on First Avenue gave up their bodies. Then only the demons inhabiting us could be seen. Souls who had wronged each other were brought together here. The rapist met his victim, the jilted child discovered its mother. But nothing could be healed, the mirror was a knife dividing everything from itself, tears of false fellowship dripped on the bar. And what are you going to do to me now? With what, exactly, would you expect to frighten me?