Because even if the whole world was throwing rocks at you, if you had your mother at your back, you’d be okay. Some deep-rooted part of you would know you were loved. That you deserved to be loved.
And all my mother came into mine eyes. And gave me up to tears.
My mother … she is beautiful, softened at the edges and tempered with a spine of steel. I want to grow old and be like her.
I will look after you and I will look after anybody you say needs to be looked after, any way you say. I am here. I brought my whole self to you. I am your mother.
He didn't realise that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark.
As mothers and daughters, we are connected with one another. My mother is the bones of my spine, keeping me straight and true. She is my blood, making sure it runs rich and strong. She is the beating of my heart. I cannot now imagine a life without her.
But behind all your stories is your mother's story, for hers is where yours begins.
Can anything harm us, mother, after the night-lights are lit? 'Nothing, precious,’ she said, ‘they are the eyes a mother leaves behind her to guard her children.'
Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother’s love is not.
She told me then too how she loved me the second I was born. She said it was like she knew me, even though ti was the first time she'd ever seen me. She said I looked really wise and clever when I came out, like I'd been on earth before and could teach her stuff – it sounded mad. But mainly she just wanted to cuddle and look after me. She said meeting me was the happiest moment of her life. Mum-love is a fact like that – it just happens, whatever you do, you can't do anything about it, like rain.
It is the custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day. If you could keep awake (but of course you can’t) you would see your own mother doing this, and you would find it very interesting to watch her. It is quite like tidying up drawers.
She was of the stuff of which great men's mothers are made. She was indispensable to high generation, hated at tea parties, feared in shops, and loved at crises.