Quotes About Motherhood

She wasn't a particularly handsome person, but mothers are always lovely to their children, and the girls thought that the gray cloak and unfashionable bonnet covered the most splendid woman in the world.

I want to tell; but some things even you couldn't forgive; and if you let go of me, I'm afraid I can't keep afloat.' 'Mothers can forgive anything!

He helped and comforted me, and showed me that I must try to practice all the virtues I would have my little girls possess, for I was their example. It was easier to try for your sakes than for my own. A startled or surprised look from one of you when I spoke sharply rebuked me more than any words could have done, and the love, respect, and confidence of my children was the sweetest reward I could receive for my efforts to be the woman I would have them copy.

for no matter how lost and soiled and worn-out wandering sons may be, mothers can forgive and forget every thing as they fold them in their fostering arms. Happy the son whose faith in his mother remains unchanged, and who, through all his wanderings, has kept some filial token to repay her brave and tender love.

Her arms instinctively tightened their hold upon the dearest treasure she possessed.

A large sheaf, but I know there's room in your heart for it, Marmee dear, added Meg's tender voice. Touched to the heart, Mrs. March could only stretch out her arms, as if to gather children and grandchildren to herself, and say, with face and voice full of motherly love, gratitude, and humility... Oh, my girls, however long you may live, I never can wish you a greater happiness than this!

Believe this heartily, and go to God with all your little cares, and hopes, and sins, and sorrows, as freely and confidingly as you come to your mother.

but what mother was ever proof against the winning wiles, the ingenious evasions, or the tranquil audacity of the miniature men and women who so early show themselves accomplished Artful Dodgers?

No encuentro palabras para explicaros el reencuentro entre madre e hijas. Son momentos muy hermosos de vivir pero muy difíciles de describir [...]

Jo wanted to lay her head down on that motherly bosom, and cry her grief and anger all away, but tears were an unmanly weakness, and she felt so deeply injured that she really couldn't quite forgive yet.

Three decades of being the most respectable science professional or suburban mother count for nothing set against one fuck in a doorway.

A newborn baby has a powerful effect on character. But so does a toddler. A child. A preteen. A teenager. A mother changes with every stage. Some stages are within a mother's skill set. Some stages are like being told to scale a cliff using a rope attached to nothing.

Since Hamilton had at least one sibling who had died in infancy or childhood, the poem may have summoned up memories of his own mother's hardships: For the sweet babe, my doting heart Did all a mother's fondness feel; Careful to act each tender part And guard from every threatening ill. But what alas! availed my care? The unrelenting hand of death, Regardless of a parent's prayer Has stopped my lovely infant's breath

four tumbling, squealing cubs

Who goes to the hills, goes to his mother.

A dog-it was a dog I saw for certain. Or thought I saw. It was snowing pretty hard by then, and you can see things in the snow that aren't there, or aren't exactly there, so that by God when you do see something, you react anyhow, erring on the distaff side, if you get my drift. That's my training as a driver, but it's also my temperament as a mother of two grown sons and wife to an invalid, and that way when I'm wrong at least I'm wrong on the side of the angels.

She grieved for her lost daughter and she grieved for herself.  When Cicely uncovered the deception of her adoption, she uncovered a greater deception—that of Charlotte's ambiguous heart.  It was true—Charlotte had wanted her own daughter with a desire beyond reason.  She had wanted a daughter of her own flesh and blood to link her to life.  A connection not based on deeds or shared experiences or love, but something immutable and immortal. She

Thirty-nine. A widow. Trying to fill her sons' needs. Trying to be both mother and father. Careful not to demand too much of the boys.

When she had him along, the world looked different, and she liked the way she saw things she'd never seen before. . . But she noticed other things, too -- the way she herself felt acutely visible with the baby in her arms, and the way some people's faces lit up when they saw a child. His warm weight was like living ballast, thrumming with energy, giving her substance. Folks were drawn to that.

But then she remembered how easily she'd guessed the passcode on his phone, and it occurred to her that she and Benny knew each other pretty well, and that this was something not many mothers could say about their sons.

As she left the house and walked to the bus stop, it occurred to her that, really, a mother never stops carrying her child, and this thought brought tears to her eyes.

Having a baby is different from all the ordinary ways of being hurt. it's worth it all. Other pain isn't worth anything, but that is.

Elva had said nothing to anyone. She prayed earnestly that she was all right, explaining over and over again to God what the doctor had said, and how she couldn't properly look after the children she already had. Elva liked to pray in front of a statue similar to the one in her mother's living-room. She was not praying to the statue, but it was a kind of magical doll that kept her thoughts focussed on the Being to whom she prayed.

In those days of the second World War it was still widely believed that women who had just delivered could reasonably be expected to be off their heads. 'Yes, dear,' these meek women said, with a certain mournful importance. 'I was outa me mind. Terrible, really. All me milk went to the brain. I suppose it curdles, like.