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.

A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden, fall upon us; when adversity takes the read more

A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden, fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine desert us; when trouble thickens around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts.

A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive.

A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive.

The mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense, tragic. It requires the most intense love on the mother's side, read more

The mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense, tragic. It requires the most intense love on the mother's side, yet this very love must help the child grow away from the mother, and to become fully independent.

Mothers are the most instinctive philosophers.

Mothers are the most instinctive philosophers.

My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it.

My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it.

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.

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.]

A mother who is really a mother is never free.

A mother who is really a mother is never free.