Quotes About Mother

Necessity is the mother of invention" is a silly proverb. "Necessity is the mother of futile dodges" is much nearer the truth.

Christianity is the mother of science.

When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces,The mother of months in meadow or plainFills the shadows and windy placesWith lisp of leaves and ripple of rain;And the brown bright nightingale amorousIs half assuaged for Itylus,For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces,The tongueless vigil, and all the pain.

I will go back to the great sweet mother,Mother and lover of men, the sea.

I will go back to the great sweet mother, Mother and lover of men, the sea. I will go down to her, I and none other, Close with her, kiss her, and mix her with me. Cling to her, strive with her, hold her fast; O fair white mother, in days long passed Born without sister, born without brother, Set free my soul as thy soul is free.

And which comes first? her unbearable mother is saying. What we see or how we see it?

It was huge, the room, her mother told her, with nothing in it but thousands of old sherry glasses piled inside each other. Like entering what you think is going to be history and finding endless sad fragility, Zoe says. One kick. Disaster. Careful where you tread.

I suppose the fact that we're all a lot more accustomed to blatancy these days means that blatancy itself has to get even more blatant, her mother says.

Oh, m'encanta Kafka, diu la mare. Un llibre hauria de ser una destral per trencar el mar de gel de dins nostre. Penso que és una de les coses més boniques que s'han escrit mai.

All of this information flashes through George's head in that fraction of a second it takes to do the single swivel round towards H in her mother's chair and say the words: It's my mother's study. Cool, H says.

560My mother went on and on about it. Actually she went off on a tangent, I told her about your mother at one point and she went all (H starts doing a lightly French accent) it is not fair for your friend, she is not going to get the important boredoms and mournings and melancholies that are her due and are owing to her just from being the age that she is, for now it will be interrupted by real mournings and real melancholies...

can't bear it, he said. It is like your mother has become a dwarf and as if her dwarf self is always twinkling away in all the corners of the house and the yard, always in the corner of my eye. I shrugged.

My mother went on and on about it. Actually she went off on a tangent, I told her about your mother at one point and she went all (H starts doing a lightly French accent) it is not fair for your friend, she is not going to get the important boredoms and mournings and melancholies that are her due and are owing to her just from being the age that she is, for now it will be interrupted by real mournings and real melancholies...

He wraps it around him. It's a good fit, it smells leafy and fresh. He would make a good tailor. He has made something, made something of himself. His mother would be pleased at last. Oh God. Is there still mother after death?

Elisabeth is faintly perturbed. She realizes this is because she likes to imagine her mother knows nothing much about anything.

There was once a child whose mother fell asleep. The end. Is that it? I said What else do you need to know? you said. Can't you tell me a little more about them? I said. (I was beginning to despair of your storytelling technique.)

I'm a just a mom when I walk down the street.

Teaching him to be civil and manly and cool In the face of danger. And then before I knew it The time came for him to go off to school. Off to school to be free of women's teaching, Into a world of men--at seven years old; Into a world where a mother's hands vainly reaching Will never again caress and comfort and hold.

The art of not experiencing feelings. A child can experience her feelings only when there is somebody there who accepts her fully, understands her, and supports her. If that person is missing, if the child must risk losing the mother's love of her substitute in order to feel, then she will repress emotions.

A Deusa Tríplice: virgem, mãe e bruxa.

His love for my mother wasn't about looking back and loving something that would never change. It was about loving my mother for everything -- for her brokenness and her fleeing, for her being there right then in that moment before the sun rose and the hospital staff came in. It was about touching that hair with the side of his fingertip, and knowing yet plumbing fearlessly the depths of her ocean eyes.

Yes, Mother. I can see you are flawed. You have not hidden it. That is your greatest gift to me.

To me, the black black woman is our essential mother, the blacker she is the more us she is and to see the hatred that is turned on her is enough to make me despair, almost entirely, of our future as a people.

In search of my mother's garden, I found my own.