All Quotes By Tag: Mothers
“Mothers who live vicariously through the success of their children or husband need to find their own identity. While it is wonderful to see your children and husband become successful, what is even more effective is to lead and inspire through the example of your own successes. – Strong by Kailin Gow”
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“If my mother’s intention in whole or in part was to ensure that I never had to suffer any indignity or embarrassment for being a Jew, then she succeeded well enough. And in any case there were enough intermarriages and ‘conversions’ on both sides of her line to make me one of those many mischling hybrids who are to be found distributed all over the known world. And, as someone who doesn’t really believe that the human species is subdivided by ‘race,’ let alone that a nation or nationality can be defined by its religion, why should I not let the whole question slide away from me? Why—and then I’ll stop asking rhetorical questions—did I at some point resolve that, in whatever tone of voice I was asked ‘Are you a Jew?’ I would never hear myself deny it?”
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“Well, Betsy,” he said, “your mother tells me that you are going to use Uncle Keith’s trunk for a desk. That’s fine. You need a desk. I’ve often noticed how much you like to write. The way you eat up those advertising tablets from the store! I never saw anything like it. I can’t understand it though. I never write anything but checks myself. “”Bob!” said Mrs. Ray. “You wrote the most wonderful letters to me before we were married. I still have them, a big bundle of them. Every time I clean house I read them over and cry.””Cry, eh?” said Mr. Ray, grinning. “In spite of what your mother says, Betsy, if you have any talent for writing, it comes from family. Her brother Keith was mighty talented, and maybe you are too. Maybe you’re going to be a writer.”Betsy was silent, agreeably abashed.”But if you’re going to be a writer,” he went on, “you’ve got to read. Good books. Great books. The classics.”
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“One of the main functions of a push-up bra is to lower the number of mothers who seem like mothers.”
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“Some of us were brought into this troubled world primarily or only to increase our fathers’ chances of not being left by our mothers, or vice versa.”
“A mother is like nature, she appreciates her child’s every mood.”
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“What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery? (Just to give you an idea, Proust’s reply was ‘To be separated from Mama.’) I think that the lowest depth of misery ought to be distinguished from the highest pitch of anguish. In the lower depths come enforced idleness, sexual boredom, and/or impotence. At the highest pitch, the death of a friend or even the fear of the death of a child.”
“Anna: Ash, I don’t have anything planned with my Mother… She’s dead.Ashley: What?Anna: She died when I was seven. She drowned. It’s just my Dad and me. I didn’t tell you before because I just wanted a fresh start here, because before I moved, everybody knew about it and… I’m sorry.Ashley: ……. You’re like a Disney Princess!”
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“From her thighs, she gives you lifeAnd how you treat she who gives you lifeShows how much you value the life given to you by the Creator.And from seed to dustThere is ONE soul above all others –That you must always show patience, respect, and trustAnd this woman is your mother.And when your soul departs your bodyAnd your deeds are weighed against the featherThere is only one soul who can save yoursAnd this woman is your mother.And when the heart of the universeAsks her hair and mind,Whether you were gentle and kind to herHer heart will be forced to remain silentAnd her hair will speak freely as a separate entity,Very much like the seaweed in the sea –It will reveal all that it has heard and seen.This woman whose heart has seen yours,First before anybody else in the world,And whose womb had opened the doorFor your eyes to experience light and more –Is your very own MOTHER.So, no matter whether your mother has been cruel,Manipulative, abusive, mentally sick, or simply childishHow you treat her is the ultimate test.If she misguides you, forgive her and show her the right wayWith simple wisdom, gentleness, and kindness.And always remember,That the queen in the Creator’s kingdom,Who sits on the throne of all existence,Is exactly the same as in yours.And her name is,THE DIVINE MOTHER.”
“Not a few millions of parents strongly hope that their own children will step in by instantly becoming their own parents’ foster parents, if and when the parents reach their second childhood.”
“So he was queer, E.M. Forster. It wasn’t his middle name (that would be ‘Morgan’), but it was his orientation, his romping pleasure, his half-secret, his romantic passion. In the long-suppressed novel Maurice the title character blurts out his truth, ‘I’m an unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde sort.’ It must have felt that way when Forster came of sexual age in the last years of the 19th century: seriously risky and dangerously blurt-able. The public cry had caught Wilde, exposed and arrested him, broken him in prison. He was one face of anxiety to Forster; his mother was another. As long as she lived (and they lived together until she died, when he was 66), he couldn’t let her know.”
“In the case of Michel Angelo we have an artist who with brush and chisel portrayed literally thousands of human forms; but with this peculiarity, that while scores and scores of his male figures are obviously suffused and inspired by a romantic sentiment, there is hardly one of his female figures that is so,—the latter being mostly representative of woman in her part as mother, or sufferer, or prophetess or poetess, or in old age, or in any aspect of strength or tenderness, except that which associates itself especially with romantic love. Yet the cleanliness and dignity of Michel Angelo’s male figures are incontestable, and bear striking witness to that nobility of the sentiment in him, which we have already seen illustrated in his sonnets.”
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“You will like her,” he persisted. “Egad, she’s after your own heart, maman! She shot me in the arm.””Voyons, do you think that is what I like?”
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“Madlen came to sit beside her on the bed. “Lady Queen,” she said with her own particular brand of rough gentleness. “It is not the job of the child to protect her mother. It’s the mother’s job to protect the child. By allowing your mother to protect you, you gave her a gift. Do you understand me?”
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“When you were a child, you used to run to me for protection. Now, in moments of weakness, I want to hide my head on your knees; I want you to be strong and wise; I want you to protect and defend me. I’m not always strong in spirit, Vitya – I can be weak too. I often think about suicide, but something holds me back – some weakness, or strength, or irrational hope.”
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