Quotes About Child

time she decorated the nursery in neutral

She had called in the debt that parents owe a child for bringing her, unasked, into a strange world.

a harried commuter is mistaken for Christ by a child he knocks over.

The father of Ruth van Cleve's child, she reports, is under the protection and care of the Norfolk County Correctional Authority, awaiting sentencing for what Ruth van Cleve describes several times as operating a pharmaceutical company without a license.

Which of the dead are most tenderly and passionately deplored? Those who love the survivors the least, I believe. The death of a child occasions a passion of grief and frantic tears, such as your end, brother reader, will never inspire. The death of an infant which scarce knew you, which a week's absence from you would have caused to forget you, will strike you down more than the loss of your closest friend, or your first-born son – a man grown like yourself, with children of his own.

It seemed to me, from a psychological angle, that the comics' worst offense was their blood-curdling masculinity. A male hero, at best, lacks the qualities of maternal love and tenderness which are as essential to a normal child as the breath of life. Suppose your child's ideal becomes a superman who uses his extraordinary powers to help the weak. The most important ingredient in the human happiness recipe still is missing - love.

Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty look, repeats his words, Remembers me of his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form

For your sake, jewel, I am glad at soul I have no other child; For thy escape would teach me tyranny, To hang clogs on them.

You hold too heinous a respect of grief. CONSTANCE. He talks to me that never had a son. KING PHILIP. You are as fond of grief as of your child. CONSTANCE. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then have I reason to be fond of grief.

Yet I am doubtful, for I am mainly ignorant. What place this is, and all the skill I have Remembers not these garments. Nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me, For as I am a man, I think this lady To be my child Cordelia.

It is a wise father who knows his own child.

If you felt sorry for every man you murdered, every life you broke in two, every slow and painful harvest you destroyed, every child whose future you stole, madness would throw her noose around your neck and lead you into the dark woods where the rivers are polluted and the birds are silent.

Poetry (whatever we may say) is, was, and will always be a game. And as very child knows, all games have rules. So why do grown-ups forget?

Why was it so important that I would be thought of as a child molester? Why, given my unsullied life and the sheer illogic of the allegation, would it not be met with more skepticism?

Keep aware of who and what you are as you become involved in the affairs of the world. Don't forget that you are an indestructible child of a golden Universe.

Au bout d'un moment, l'enfant cessa de lutter et posa ses mains

The bluff was cut as if a child had taken a spoon to the rim of a three-layer cake.

Sympathy is the child of imagination

Hope is a child not yet born, only promised, and that bruises.

Truth doesn't make sense, the hugeness of the world makes me shrink. What I probably asked for and finally found still ended up leaving me unprepared, like a child walking alone across the earth.

Viewing the child solely as an immature person is a way of escaping comforting him

Agnès se tourne vers moi. Ses yeux sont vert émeraude. Vert ne s'accorde pas avec yeux mais avec émeraude et se met donc au singulier. Son regard ainsi parfaitement accordé m'oblige à baisser le mien. Lâche, tu es lâche, Frédéric. Oui, mais il y a entre nous un enfant mort. Au singulier. Définitivement.

Our system is the height of absurdity, since we treat the culprit both as a child, so as to have the right to punish him, and as an adult, in order to deny him consolation.

History is a child building a sandcastle by the sea, and that child is the whole majesty of man's power in the world.