Mother Quotes
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I grew up in Houston, and I remember we had separate drinking fountains, and black people sat in the balcony of the theater... We had an African-American housekeeper growing up who was really like my second mother. I thought it was silly - hatred just because of the color of somebody's skin.
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Mother, I am young. Mother, I am just eighteen. I am strong. I will work hard, Mother. But I do not want this child to grow up just to work hard. What must I do, mother, what must I do to make a different world for her? How do I start?" "The secret lies in the reading and the writing. You are able to read. Every day you must read one page from some good book to your child. Every day this must be until the child learns to read. Then she must read every day, I know this is the secret
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My mother was willing to support art as a summer program for me. She never supported it as a career decision until I won the National Gallery Portrait Competition.
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When I was four years old, my mother owned some tenements in the Bronx.
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Both my parents died on the young side. My father was 45, and my mother was 61, so cancer's affected me in a big way.
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I don't want to bore people with stories about being in rock n' roll and being a mother. Other singers do it. I can, too. I just do what I have to do. It's not that hard. It's just different.
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The babe at first feeds upon the mother's bosom, but it is always on her heart.
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Growing up with three brothers and three sisters, I was the storyteller of the family... what my mother called 'The Liar.'
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Beyond a certain point, that was all a mother could do for her children - Hang around long enough to drive them crazy.
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My mother is a strong woman. Her strength comes from being tested by life's unpredictability. It comes from soldiering on for her children, even when she might rather have given up. I know it hasn't always come easily, but I also know it's her greatest gift.
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I love to sing. I never had any formal training. My mother is a singer, and I picked up listening to her.
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My mother was a consulting dietician, and my father was a consulting engineer.
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I learned, especially from my mother, to respect the profession and take it seriously, but not take yourself too seriously.
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It's my theory that many writers were the confidantes of one or the other parent. I was my mother's confidante; she had been her mother's confidante.
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The only really good piece of advice I have for my students is, 'Write something you'd never show your mother or father.' And you know what they say? 'I could never do that!'
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Difficult but worth it-- that's how my mother had once describe life with Omi.
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I can't answer for my mother. She was a very private person, and did not discuss a lot of things.
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My mother and my father were very nurturing and wonderful examples of how to live your life.
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Now, I come from a long line of narcissists. And I also have no kids - by choice - but I understand not being a mother and the pain that comes from that.
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I start my day with a hot water and lemon routine. I meditate. And I take my problems lightly, like my mother always said: treat them like helium balloons and let them go. I devour a lot of books to feed my mind.
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I wanted to make a home that was similar to the kind of home that my mother made. To be able to create something like that in my adopted city, New York City, one of the toughest cities on the planet, is really special.
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If I walked into the kitchen without washing my hands as a kid, I'd hear a loud 'A-hem!' from my mother or grandmother. Now I count on other people to do the same.
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Let's be honest: the label of model-daughter-of-celebrity mother is... you know, I don't want to have that label. It's not who I am. It's not my values to go off someone else's name and to be pigeonholed as that. So in a way, that has really pushed me to be more independent.
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How can a mother's heart feel cold or wearyKnowing her dearer self safe, sheltered, warm?How can she feel her road too dark or dreary,Who knows her treasure sheltered from the storm?How can she sin? Our hearts may be unheeding,Our God forgot, our holy saints defied;But can a mother hear her dead child pleading,And thrust those little angel hands aside?
