Women know the way to rear up children (to be just). They know a simple, merry, tender knack of tying sashes, fitting baby-shoes, and stringing pretty words that make no sense. And kissing full sense into empty words.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningRead
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Women know the way to rear up children (to be just). They know a simple, merry, tender knack of tying sashes, fitting baby-shoes, and stringing pretty words that make no sense. And kissing full sense into empty words.
The moment a child is born, the mother is also born.
As mothers and daughters, we are connected with one another. My mother is the bones of my spine, keeping me straight and true. She is my blood, making sure it runs rich and strong. She is the beating of my heart. I cannot now imagine a life without her.
A mother's arms are made of tenderness and children sleep soundly in them.
It kills you to see them grow up. But I guess it would kill you quicker if they didn't.
Motherhood: All love begins and ends there.
An ounce of mother is worth a pound of clergy.
God could not be everywhere, and therefore he made mothers.
Motherhood is priced Of God, at price no man may dare To lessen or misunderstand.
All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his.
Mothers are fonder than fathers of their children because they are more certain they are their own.
Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother.
A mother has to think twice, once for herself and once for her child.
Life began with waking up and loving my mother's face.
My mother is my root, my foundation. She planted the seed that I base my life on, and that is the belief that the ability to achieve starts in your mind.
By and large, mothers and housewives are the only workers who do not have regular time off. They are the great vacationless class.
A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity, it dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path.
All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.
Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother's love is not.
That best academy, a mother's knee.
My mother... she is beautiful, softened at the edges and tempered with a spine of steel. I want to grow old and be like her.
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