Quotes About Mother-daughter

I'm very different to my mum. I'm not as beautiful as she is, nor - she probably despairs about this - as groomed. I certainly rebelled against her idea of looking well turned-out. I spent several years with a shaved head in jeans and baggy shirts.

I was 15 when I first read 'The Feminine Mystique,' locked in my bedroom, probably wearing black, groping for any ideas I could find on how not to become my mother.

How does a daughter know that she feels appropriately towards the woman who is her mother? Yes, it was difficult to know what to do with Mai, how to conceive her. I thought I hated her fawning, but what I see I hated is the degree of it. If she was fawning, she was not fawning enough. She diluted it with her spitefulness, the hopeless clawing of a small cornered spirit towards what was beyond it. And if she had spirit, it was not great enough, being shrunk by the bitterness of her temper.

She knew it was wrong to be angry with her mother now - the weather wasn't her fault - but Loreda couldn't help herself. She was mad at the world, and somehow that meant shew as mad at her mom most of all.

Girls," she whispered under her breath, wondering why it was that adolescent girls simply had to be mean to their mothers. Clearly it was normal behavior; she'd spent enough time with her friends and peers to know that. So normal it was probably part of evolution. Maybe the species needed girls who thought they were grown up at thirteen for some bizarre, hidden reason.

Why, of all the lessons she should have learned from her mother, had she held on to this most hurtful one?

Claudia Gould's native French but Anna's answer was in English. It had become a battle of wills between her and her mother.

The second revelation occurred when her unconscious released the idea, or the false belief, that her mother would love her only if she were totally perfect. Of course, that wasn't true. Her mother was incapable of loving her, and being perfect wouldn't alter that fact. That insight helped to free Madeline from trying so hard to please her mother.

the mother's narcissism is confirmed by how she seeks reassurance from the magic mirror on the wall early in the story, long before Snow White's beauty surpasses her own. There is no better tale for conveying how imperilled a teenage girl can feel with a narcissistic, competitive mother. And for Madeline, there were no friendly dwarves.

In the words of so many daughters who don't yet know that a female fate is not a personal fault, I told myself: I'm not going to be anything like my mother.

When a mother quarrels with a daughter, she has a double dose of unhappiness hers from the conflict, and empathy with her daughter's from the conflict with her. Throughout her life a mother retains this special need to maintain a good relationship with her daughter.

She was, at sixteen years, eight months and twenty-one days, a product of her mother's meticulous and detailed agenda. That was about to change.

Maybe it's just a daughter's job to piss off her mother.

She had it cut like that when they moved here years ago. It's too short and severe, a horrible look, in my opinion, not feminine at all. But even so, I have to say, she's a very pretty girl. Prettier than her mother.

quivering, as if she couldn't decide whether to laugh or frown. I love my mom, and I have no idea how she can find Rafe funny. It must be a gene I missed. "So, are you two excited for your first day?" Mom asked. Changing the subject. Nicely done, Mom. "I can't wait," Rafe and I said together. Only his voice clearly meant "I can wait," while my voice meant "I'm so excited that I'm about to explode!

Go 'head and judge me, miss. I fear nothing but the pitiless gaze of the Almighty. You could be Mommie Dearest or Clair Huxtable—don't matter what kind of mother you are; daughters always blame moms for every mess they make.

It was time—past time, really—for her to let go of her anger and give herself permission to be her mother's daughter without being afraid that she was going to turn into her.

I couldn't bear to think of my mother loving me but unable to face me, to stare into my eyes, to care for me emotionally, to offer me her face. Like any daughter, as much as I wanted to separate from her, I wanted to be deeply connected to her, I wanted to redeem her, I wanted to protect her. I wanted to love and to understand, in that order.

she's not as pretty as you," I said "But she's a simpler girl," my mother whispered.

I grew up with just my mom. She and I were like best friends. She's a very independent woman and I admire that about her. In my life, I've tried to be like that. To be okay with being on my own and being independent.

What she doesn't realize is that I have survived for her as well -- and only now am I beginning to survive for myself.

When a mother quarrels with a daughter, she has a double dose of unhappiness hers from the conflict, and empathy with her daughter's from the conflict with her. Throughout her life a mother retains this special need to maintain a good relationship with her daughter.

This isn't bickering. This is classic mother-daughter communications. I've been reading up on it.

She had learned not to expect love, and wasn't even sure she wanted it. This was the most profound wisdom she'd managed to glean from the fifteen years she had spent in her mother's presence. Fifteen down. One—please