Life began with waking up and loving my mother’s face.
There is no velvet so soft as a mother’s lap, no rose as lovely as her smile, no path so flowery as that imprinted with her footsteps.
Mothers possess a power beyond that of a king on his throne.
To describe my mother would be to write about a hurricane in its perfect power.
The art of mothering is to teach the art of living to children.
Mother’s love is peace. It need not be acquired, it need not be deserved.
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.
The best place to cry is on a mother’s arms.
A mother is clothed with strength and dignity, laughs without fear of the future. When she speaks her words are wise and she gives instructions with kindness.
A mother’s arms are more comforting than anyone else’s.