Best 10031 quotes in «mother quotes» category

The sperm donor that impregnated my mother (with me), passed away. Please, stop sending me private messages of condolences. I never met the man.

The sound of thunder awake me, and when I got up, my feet sank into muddy water up to my ankles. Mother took Buster and Helen to high ground to pray, but I stayed behind with Apache and Lupe. We barricaded the door with the rug and started bailing water out the window. Mother came back and begged us to go pray with her on the hilltop. "To heck with praying!" I shouted. "Bail, dammit, bail!" Mom look mortified. I could tell she thought I'd probably doomed us all with my blasphemy, and I was a little shocked at it myself, but with the water rising so fast, the situation was dire. We had lit the kerosene lamp, and we could see the walls of the dugout were beginning to sag inward. If Mom had pitched in and helped, there was a chance we might have been able to save the dugout - not a good chance, but a fighting chance. Apache and Lupe and I couldn't do it on our own, though, and when the ceiling started to cave, we grabbed Mom's walnut headboard and pulled it through the door just as the dugout collapsed in on itself, burying everything. Afterward, I was pretty aggravated with Mom. She kept saying that the flood was God's will and we had to submit to it. But I didn't see things that way. Submitting seemed to me a lot like giving up. If God gave us the strength to bail - the gumption to try to save ourselves - isn't that what he wanted us to do?

The spiritual messages for mum kept coming to me in meditation. I never questioned them, I just passed them on.

The thing I miss most from home, is having a home.

The toys can help in the battle." "Mother Ginger? I doubt it!" "Never underestimate the value of a mother in wartime. She has the most to fight for.

The Valley Weeps Weep softly o mother, the walls have ears you know... The streets are awash o mother! I cannot go searching for him any more. The streets are awash o mother with blood and tears, pellets and screams. that silently remain locked in the air, while they lock us souless inside. The guns are out o mother, while our boys go armed with stones, I cannot go looking for him o mother, I have no courage to face what i will find. They fill the air o mother, The fragrance of plastic flowers I will place them beside your grave if i ever do survive, flowers that have no soul. and would never fade with time, The sun shines glorious o mother The water sparkles so fine The buds are closed in terror and birds have gone silent with fear There is poison in our heaven o mother I dread for what more is in store. They came for him o mother, yesterday as you slept inside, He went marching o mother with all the others beside. I never told you o mother, I do not know if he would ever return. The streets are awash o mother! I cannot go searching for him any more. Weep softly o mother, the walls have ears you know... If your old blind eyes can see, You will want to see again no more. Our men have lost their spirit Our women have lost their smile, Our children have lost their laughter, The valley has lost its shine, Weep softly O mother For, we still have our pride. 17/07/2016

[the virgin birth account] occurs everywhere. When the Herod figure ( the extreme figure of misgovernment) has brought man to the nadir of spirit, the occult forces of the cycle begin to move. In an inconspicuous village, Mary is born who will maintain herself undefiled by fashionable errors of her generation. Her womb, remaining fallw as the primordial abyss, summons itself by its very readiness the original power that fertilzed the void. Mary's virgin birth story is recounted everywhere. and with such striking unity of the main contours, that early christian missionaries had to think the devil must be creating mockeries of Mary's birth wherever they testified. One missionary reports that after work was begun among Tunja and Sogamozzo South American Indians, "the demon began giving contrary doctrines. The demon sought to discredit Mary's account, declaring it had not yet come to pass; but presently, the sun would bring it to pass by taking flesh in the womb of a virgin in a small village, causing her to conceive by rays of the sun while she yet remained virgin." Hindu mythology tells of the maiden parvati who retreated to the high hills to practice austerities. Taraka had usurped mastery of the world, a tyrant. Prophecy said only a son of the high god Shiva could overthrow him. Shive however was the pattern god of yoga-alone, aloof, meditating. It was impossible Shiva could be moved to beget. Parvati tried changing the world situation by metching Shiva in meditation. Aloof, indrawn in her soul meditating, she fasted naked beneath the blazing sun, even adding to the heat by building four great fires. One day a Brahmin youth arrived and asked why anyone so beautiful should be destroying herself with such torture. "My desire," she said "is Shiva, the Highest. He is the god of solitude and concentration. I therefore imitate his meditation to move him from his balance and bring him to me in love." Shiva, the youth announced, is a god of destruction, shiva is World Annhilator. Snakes are his garlands. The virgin said: He is beyond the mind of such as you. He is terrifying but the source of grace. snake garlands or jewel garlands he can assume or put off at will. Shiva is my love. The youth thereupon put away his disguise-he was Shiva. The Buddha descended from heaven to his mother's womb in the shape of a milk white elephant. The Aztec Coatlicue was approached by a god in the form of a ball of feathers. The chapters of Ovid's Metamorphoses swarm with nymphs beset by gods in sundry masquerades: jove as a bull, a swan, a shower of gold. Any leaf, any nut, or even the breath of a breeze, may be enough to fertilize the ready virgin womb. The procreating power is everywhere. And according to whim or destiny of the hour, either a hero savior or a world--annihilating demon may be conceived-one can never know.

The womb is one of the final stops on eternity's journey.

The womb is one of the final stops on your journey to eternity.

The womb is like Heaven, great things are birthed from it.

The word mother must be replaced with the word extraordinary because they precisely are!

The wrath of God is never an evil wrath. God gets angry because he loves people like a mother would love her child if someone were to harm it. There is something wrong if the mother never gets angry; it is safe to say that that is the unloving mother.

They both had enormous eyes, my father’s blue, my mother’s green, that expressed with great feeling what they frequently could not.

They began with a winter soup, lovingly cooked in a copper pot with a shinbone left over from Sunday lunch- But the witch brought in a light bouillon, simmered with the sweetest of baby shallots and scented with ginger and lemongrass and served with croutons so crisp and small that they seemed to vanish in her mouth- The mother brought in the second course. Sausages and potato mash; a comforting dish the child always loved, with sticky onion marmalade- But the witch brought in a brace of quail that had been gorged on ripe figs all their lives, now roasted and stuffed with chestnuts and foie gras and served with a coulis of pomegranate- Now the mother was close to despair. She brought dessert: a stout apple pie, made to her mother's recipe. But the witch had made a pièce montée: a pastel-colored sugared dream of almonds, summer fruit, and pastries like a puff of air, all scented with rose and marshmallow cream, and served with a glass of Château d'Yquem-

Thinking about her mother always pitched Salander into a mood of helplessness and darkness black as night. As a teenager, she had cherished the fantasy that her mother would get well and that they would be able to form some sort of relationship. That was her heart thinking. Her head knew that it would never happen.

They have hung my mother. Curse them! in every way curse them! She was no party to the mad freaks of Booth! She has been murdered by Johnson, but I will have it even with them yet.

They want you to be in a special ward,” my mother said. “They don’t have that sort of ward at our hospital.” “I liked it where I was.” My mother’s mouth tightened. “You should have behaved better, then.” “What?” “You shouldn’t have broken that mirror. Then maybe they’d have let you stay.” But of course I knew the mirror had nothing to do with it

They hate me because I am the worst thing possible. I am the bad mother. But here's a secret: in America there are no good mothers. They simply don't exist. Always, there are a thousand ways to fail at this singularly important job. There are failures of the body and failures of the heart. The woman who is unable to breastfeed is a failure. The woman who screams for the epidural is a failure. The woman who picks up her child late knows from the teacher's cutting glance that she is a failure. The woman who shares her bed with her baby has failed. The woman who steels herself and puts on noise-canceling earphones to erase the screaming of her child the next room has failed just as spectacularly. They must all hang their heads in guilt and shame because they haven't done it perfectly, and motherhood is, if anything, the assumption of perfection.

Things would have turned out better is she had lived. As it was, she died when I was kid;and thought everything that happened to me since then is thoroughly my own fault, still when I lost her I lost sight of any landmark that might have led me someplace happier, to some more populated or congenial life.

Think twice before you pull your trouser and rape a woman; she may be your mother, sister or friend, and you know the consequences that follows.

This girl who's slept a hundred years has something after all. It's called Centuryitis, and it has turned me into a man. Oh, what will mamma think when she sees me?! -Karen Quan and Jarod Kintz

To all the mothers out there. Happy mothers day. May the Lord give you more years to live and enough strength to face the daily challenges. May he blesses you. May he keep you, until you see your children succeed in life. Thanks for all the love and for making sure we grow up right. I have felt God’s love through you. Everyday to me it’s a Happy Mothers Day , because there is no day were you stopped being a mother to me.

This little girl will be fearless. She’ll do whatever she wants. She won’t feel as scared as me.” A quiet mantra, she repeated it daily.

Thy nature, the century points towards asylum, For thee being insane to this sensible world, But to me, thou art my loving mother.

To all the motherless daughters out there; may your heartache serve you in the best of ways. May your grief give you a better understanding of yourself, may your sentiment allow you to express and create, and may your love expand beyond what you ever thought possible.

To know myself as woman in the image of God to know God as Mother and to know my own mother as a window into God: these three are inseparable.If one is implausible to the heart the other two are as well.

To know a boy, ask his mother. To know a man, ask his wife.

To the loyal and to the blood-lovers, in the good families and in the fiery dynasties, life is family and family is life. It is the same people who give advice and their vices to live well who turn out to be the ones who give resource and reason to live long.

To My Mother You too, my mother, read my rhymes For love of unforgotten times, And you may chance to hear once more The little feet along the floor.

Too late, too late, your love gave me life. Here am I the creature you made through your loving; by your passion you created the thing that I am. Who are you to deny me the right to love? But for you I need never have known existence.

To your parents you are still that innocent baby, and sometimes even you will need your father's hand and your mother's lap.

Treat her with love and respect otherwise once she is gone, you'll have this pain, No matter how hard you try, you will not be able to hug her again!

Trudging on foot, loaded with sacks, bundles, and babies, young mothers who had lost their milk, driven out of their minds by the horrors of the journey, abandoned their children, shook the corn out of their sacks onto the ground, and turned back. A quick death, they had decided, was preferable to a slow death by starvation. Better to fall into the clutches of the enemy than to be torn to pieces by some beast in the forest.

Turn off the light," she says as she walks away, creating a small woosh that smells sweet and chemical. It makes me sad because it's the smell she makes when she's leaving.

Tupo watu takriban bilioni saba katika dunia hii. Kila mtu ni wa kipekee. Mathalani, wewe ni tofauti na baba yako au mama yako au mtu mwingine yoyote yule. Kila mtu aliumbwa kivyake na Mwenyezi Mungu. Kila mtu ana nafasi ya kwake mwenyewe aliyopangiwa na Mungu hapa duniani. Haijalishi wewe ni mwanamke au mwanamume, mweupe au mweusi, mfupi au mrefu, mzuri au mbaya, una nafasi katika nchi na dunia hii. Unachotakiwa kufanya ni kuamka, kufumbua macho na kuujua ukweli. Tafuta maarifa katika Biblia kama wewe ni Mkristo. Tafuta maarifa katika Kurani kama wewe ni Mwislamu. Tafuta maarifa katika Yoga kama wewe haumwamini Mungu. Ukishaamka na kuujua ukweli, ukishapata nafasi katika nchi yako, kuwa kiongozi na mkarimu kwa wenzako. Jifunze kutoka kwa wengine ndani na nje ya tasnia yako. Usiwe mchoyo wa maarifa. Kuwa mwadilifu. Ukifanya hivyo utafanikiwa zaidi, utaipa heshima tasnia yako, na utaacha alama katika dunia baada ya kuondoka. Kuacha alama katika dunia si lazima upate nafasi katika dunia. Kuacha alama katika dunia acha alama katika nchi yako.

Two brothers. Two different worlds. Different mothers, of course. Did that explain it? Women usually explained everything.

Ukimheshimu baba au mama yako katika mambo mema au mabaya umemheshimu Mungu katika mambo mema.

We all have a reason for living I am blessed mine has two eyes a heartbeat and calls me mum.

Under her thick pancake makeup, her skin had been pockmarked, but he would stare at her adoringly from his cot at night and imagine her scars were constellations, a secret map to a far-off, happy place.

Violence against a women should be given the death penalty. Why? Because abusing a woman is the same as hurting your mother. And hurting your mother is the same as hurting God. They both gave you life. -- Suzy Kassem, The Writings of Suzy Kassem

Watoto hupenda vitu vinavyong’aa ambavyo havijatulia na vilivyopangiliwa vizuri. Hivyo ndivyo macho ya binadamu yalivyo: yana unyevu na yanaakisi mwanga, hayajatulia, na yana rangi kadha wa kadha ikiwa ni pamoja na kope na vigubiko vya macho ambavyo pia hazijatulia. Mtoto mchanga hasa yule anayeona vizuri huangalia macho pale anapopata nafasi, kwa maana ya kuyashangaa. Vilevile, huangalia macho kwa maana ya kupokea molekuli ya maadili au homoni inayorahisisha maisha kutoka kwa mama yake iitwayo ‘oxytocin’. ‘Oxytocin’ husisimua ubongo wake na kuutayarisha kupokea neno lolote litakalosemwa na mama yake mzazi au mama yake mlezi.

Under her thick pancake makeup, her sin had been pockmarked, but he would stare at her adoringly from his cot at night and imagine her scars were constellations, a secret map to a far-off, happy place.

Up the narrow stairs and into the kitchen. Rosie's mother looked around and made a face as if to indicate that it did not meet her standards of hygiene, containing as it did, edible foodstuffs. "Coffee? Water?" Don't say wax fruit. "Wax fruit?" Damn.

Vanessa's mother worked as a costume designer for the movies. She wore clothes before anyone even knew they were in style. That was her job. She had to be a year or two ahead of everyone else. Sometimes it embarrassed Vanessa to have a mother so overly trendy. But Catty loved to go over to their house and try on her mother's designs.

Violence against women should be given the death penalty. Why? Because abusing a woman is the same as hurting your mother. And hurting your mother is the same as hurting God. They both gave you life. -- Suzy Kassem, The Writings of Suzy Kassem

We aim to be men who’ll make our mothers proud, but we end up making them cry, and are only slightly better than our fathers, at best

We all intuitively know that a mother's love is crucial to the creation of a well-adjusted human and that we are all born with an instinctive expectation of receiving unconditionally selfless love from our mother.

We all tried to pretend that there was nothing wrong and that everything was normal, but nothing was normal.

We have to do it for my mum's sake. Because I'm hoping that the last sorry will be to her.

we have forgotten how to press our fingers to the tilting planet's jugular and measure her pulse. we have forgotten symbiosis, that she is our mother. we have forgotten that when we rape our world we rape ourselves.