Quotes About Mother-daughter

I say to my mother all the time, 'You're the child.' And she says, 'Yeah, you're the mother.' I've been that way with her since I was 11.

Mothers subject their daughters to a level of scrutiny people usually reserve for themselves. A mother's gaze is like a magnifying glass held between the sun's rays and kindling. It concentrates the rays of imperfection on her daughter's yearning for approval. The result can be a conflagration - whoosh.

I had come to feel that my mother's love for me was designed solely to make me into an echo of her; and I didn't know why, but I felt that I would rather be dead than become just an echo of someone.

I permed my hair 12 years ago, because I always wanted a perm, but my mother would never let me have one! I got a lot of stick, but I didn't care - I loved the curls. The growing out was the difficult part!

I can see how the young girls really get hurt when their moms are critical, or vice versa when they're overly critical of their moms. It can be so painful.

When daughters react with annoyance or even anger at the smallest, seemingly innocent remarks, mothers get the feeling that talking to their daughters can be like walking on eggshells: they have to watch every word.

Yasmin loved the little woman with her seamed glowing face, tiny mahogany hands ghosted with flour, white hair like a veil, tied up; loved her in that way women never get to love their own mothers because there is not enough unsaid, and too much said, between them.

GIRL'S STORY #7: THE HARD-TO-PLEASE MOMMA Momma, I got a B, the daughter said. Who got an A? Momma answered. Momma, I showed in the track meet. Who placed? Momma answered. Momma, I placed in the track meet. Who won? Momma answered. The daughter was chosen Homecoming Queen, the daughter ran all the way home, Momma, Momma, the most wonderful thing happened, I was chosen attendant to the Homecoming Queen. Who's Queen? Momma answered. I am, said the daughter.

Amelia's mother had died two years ago, and though their relationship had been challenging at times, she misses her with an unexpected ferocity. For instance, until her death, her mother had sent her new underwear in the mail every other month. Amelia had not once had to buy underwear her whole life. Recently, she had found herself standing in the lingerie department at TJ Maxx, and as she went through the panty bin, she had begun to cry: No one will ever love me that much again.

When a daughter loses a mother, the intervals between grief responses lengthen over time, but her longing never disappears. It always hovers at the edge of her awareness, ready to surface at any time, in any place, in the least expected ways. This isn't pathological. It's normal. It's why you find yourself, at twenty-four, or thirty-five or forty-three, unwrapping a present or walking down an aisle or crossing a busy street, doubled over and missing your mother

When I was younger, my mother and I, we'd have these crazy, crazy fights. Everyone would storm out mad, and the only way that I'd be able to express myself was to write her. We would write letters back and forth for days. When I'm writing, I feel uninterrupted. I write what I'm going through and how I see it.

My mother was terribly important to me, and I know how much I yearned for her in my youth, but I don't think I truly trusted her.

It's just been my mom and I for, like, three years or so. I love being able to not have to feel like I have to share the whole everything with the world, which is why I'm not very good at the Snap Chat, and I need help with my social media. Because I... I kind of just like having just us.

Mom, she says, I dreamt that you had died, and in my dream I said, But if you are dead then there is nobody to catch me if I fall. And then in my dream you came back from death, you were tired, your feet hurt, but you were happy to come back one last time, and you said: Then don't fall.

She would have loved to be able to hate her mother the way they did, with a breeziness carried by a fundamental trust in a home with a set table and dinner cooking.

Oh, mother, really you need not dust them. It would take years to dust all those little holes." And she frowned at the top of her mother's head and bit her lip with impatience. Mother's deliberate way of doing things was simply maddening. It was old age, she supposed, loftily.

I'm not a big fan of doing what my mother wants me to do, like any daughter.

And some small gnarled place inside me hated her for her weakness, for her neglect, for the months she had put us through. I had taken a step back from my mother, put up a wall to protect myself from needing her, and nothing was ever the same between us again.

Women often have a fraught relationship with their mothers, even though that's the most important relationship in their lives.

Mom brought me some peanut butter cookies and a biography of Judy Garland. She told me she thought my problem was that I was too impatient, my fuse was too short, that I was only interested in instant gratification. I said, "Instant gratification takes too long." The glib martyr.

See that girl just ahead of us? With that headband?" "Yeah?" "She's Debbie Reynolds's daughter." There was a slight pause before she added, "She thinks she's so great." Wow, right? Uncanny how she so perfectly nailed me straight out of the box. I just thought I was incredible.

I love doing girly stuff with my mum or with Sophia. I took Sophia and a couple of her friends to the Hello Kitty spa. They had chocolate facials and Hello Kitty mani-pedis. I put it on my Twitter and got lots of abuse for it, but I think it's just a nice girly thing.

My mum taught me a lot about fashion in terms of knowing what looks good on you and developing my own sense of style. Even when we were shooting the Sunglass Hut campaign, we went through racks of clothing together, and ultimately I decided on a short, more fitted peplum dress, while Mum opted for a sexy blazer and black leggings.

Ronalda looked at me as though she couldn't imagine an unspecial mother-daughter outing. It was like I had told her that I had money, but not the kind you could spend.