Being a mother means that your heart is no longer yours; it wanders wherever your children do
George Bernard ShawRead
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Being a mother means that your heart is no longer yours; it wanders wherever your children do
A little lie is like a little pregnancy it doesn't take long before everyone knows.
Family and friends and Rene and the pregnancy fulfilled me with so much love.
Birthing is the most profound initiation to spirituality a woman can have.
Discrimination and multiple deprivations of human rights are also frequently part of the problem, sentencing entire populations to poverty... It is surely a matter of outrage that over half a million women die annually from complications related to pregnancy and childbirth. This is nearly half the annual global death toll, and arguably, a direct reflection of the disempowerment of women in social, economic and political life.
It is the most powerful creation to have life growing inside of you. There is no bigger gift.
Everything grows rounder and wider and weirder, and I sit here in the middle of it all and wonder who in the world you will turn out to be.
There are some women whose pregnancy would make some sly bachelor smile.
Piglet: "How do you spell 'love'?" Winnie the Pooh: "You don't spell it...you feel it."
Nothing mattered except states of mind, chiefly our own.
When a woman gives birth her waters break and she pours out the child and the child runs free.
Give into love or live in fear.
Being slightly paranoid is like being slightly pregnant - it tends to get worse.
The rules of morality are not the conclusion of our reason.
To be fully seen by somebody, then, and be loved anyhow - this is a human offering that can border on miraculous.
It is easier to love humanity as a whole than to love one's neighbor.
We do not look in great cities for our best morality.
You’ll get over it…” It’s the clichés that cause the trouble. To lose someone you love is to alter your life for ever. You don’t get over it because ‘it” is the person you loved. The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never closes. How could it? The particularness of someone who mattered enough to grieve over is not made anodyne by death. This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no-one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?
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