The influence of a mother upon the lives of her children cannot be measured. They know and absorb her example and attitudes when it comes to questions of honesty, temperance, kindness, and industry.
When I was young, I could not imagine being old. My mother said, and the doctor confirmed, that I had an unusual amount of energy; and it followed me into young adulthood.
I had never confronted my parents with the true feelings I had for them, and I had certainly never expressed the depth of my feeling for my mother, being too selfish to try when I should have.
A mother's body remembers her babies-the folds of soft flesh, the softly furred scalp against her nose. Each child has it's own entreaties to body and soul.
My mother’s dress bears the stains of her life: blueberries, blood, bleach, and breast milk; She cradles in her arms a lifetime of love and sorrow; Its brilliance nearly blinds me.
My mother was a huge influence on me. She was a living example of what a Christian should be. Her conviction, her discipline. She would rather see other people happy than herself.
I'm not a princess. My mother is, not I. I am the niece of a head of state. And with this status, I have some representational duties - nothing very constraining or very exceptional.
If you look at the 9/11 highjackers, certainly they were educated, some even had university degrees, but nobody really checked their mothers, who were nearly all illiterate.
I was brought up by my mother and my two sisters, although they're older than me and fled the nest very young, so I was technically raised as an only child, but I was very much loved.
What can the England of 1940 have in common with the England of 1840? But then, what have you in common with the child of five whose photograph your mother keeps on the mantelpiece? Nothing, except that you happen to be the same person.
I thought that I was going to be like this earth mother. When people would complain about being pregnant, I was like, 'What are you talking about? It's incredible! Just enjoy it.'
When I think of my childhood, I see my mother, the complete sixties parent, decked in purple frappe silk caftans, the acidic smell of newly stripped pine mingling with incense.
His Nana's prayers were moving toward his mother like little butterflies of thoughts wrapped in the most beautiful colors. Each prayer looked like a mini-rainbow.
We still have community, but we don't seem to have local community. Even in a small town where you know your neighbors and your mother's down the street, they're not in arm's length.
Yes, I was slightly outside everything when I was growing up. My mother jokes that I was exchanged at birth. She brought us up to have traditional values. She was absolutely not part of the '60s generation.
My mother and father are still together after forty something years. I lived in one place till I was 6. I lived in another place from when I was 6 till I was 17.
I have a really beautiful mother. She is close to 60, and to this day doesn't wear a speck of make up or dye her hair, and everyone who meets her is completely dazzled by her. She seriously glows.
When my mother died and left me all alone, I began to realize that some things, like being loved, were more important than one's image, money, and accomplishments.
A man who cheats on the mother of his children, the woman with whom he works and to whom he said I love you, is not worthy of being a friend.
A man who cheats on the mother of his children, the woman with whom he sleeps and to whom he said I love you, is not worthy of being a friend.
My parents were terrific - mother was a church organist and my father was probably the most respected person in our church outside of the minister and sometimes maybe that much. The neighbors all called him - a gentleman.
