You May Also Like / View all maxioms
The mother says to her daughter: Daughter bid thy daughter, to
her daughter, that her daughter's daughter is crying.
read more
The mother says to her daughter: Daughter bid thy daughter, to
her daughter, that her daughter's daughter is crying.
[Lat., Mater ait natae die natae filia natum
Ut moneat natae plangere filiolam.]
Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of children.
Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of children.
If I were hanged on the highest hill,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
I know read more
If I were hanged on the highest hill,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
I know whose love would follow me still,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
Fostering mother.
[Lat., Alma mater.]
Fostering mother.
[Lat., Alma mater.]
A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she read more
A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie.
That it should come to this,
But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two,
So read more
That it should come to this,
But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two,
So excellent a king, that was to this
Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my mother
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth,
Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on, and yet within a month--
Let me not think on't; frailty, thy name is woman--
A little month, or ere those shoes were old
With which she followed my poor father's body
Like Niobe, all tears, why she, even she--
O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason
Would have mourned longer--married with my uncle,
My father's brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules.
One woman will brag about her children, while another complains about hers; they could probably swap children without swapping tunes
One woman will brag about her children, while another complains about hers; they could probably swap children without swapping tunes
There was a place in childhood that I remember well,
And there a voice of sweetest tone bright fairy read more
There was a place in childhood that I remember well,
And there a voice of sweetest tone bright fairy tales did tell.
All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No
man does. That is his.
All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No
man does. That is his.
