A mother's arms are made of tenderness and children sleep soundly in them.
Victor HugoRead
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A mother's arms are made of tenderness and children sleep soundly in them.
No one can posses an afternoon of rain beating against the window, or the serenity of a sleeping child, or the magical moment when the waves break on the rocks. No one can posses the beautiful things of this Earth, but we can know them and love them. It is through such moments that God reveals himself to mankind.
There's a moment when love makes you believe in death for the first time. You recognize the one whose loss, even contemplated, you'll carry forever, like a sleeping child. All grief, anyone's grief...is the weight of a sleeping child.
There was never a child so lovely but his mother was glad to get him to sleep.
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