Mother Quotes (page 100)
![F. Scott Fitzgerald quote: "Amory Blaine inherited from his mother every trait, except the..."](/pic/243900/600x316/quotation-f-scott-fitzgerald-amory-blaine-inherited-from-his-mother-every.jpg)
![Mitch Albom quote: "I realized when you look at your mother, you are looking at..."](/pic/243700/600x316/quotation-mitch-albom-i-realized-when-you-look-at-your-mother-you-are.jpg)
![James Joyce quote: "When I makes tea I makes tea, as old mother Grogan said. And..."](/pic/243456/600x316/quotation-james-joyce-when-i-makes-tea-i-makes-tea-as-old-mother-grogan.jpg)
Suppose we pick a name for him, eh?" Caius Pompeius stepped over and eyed the child. "He looks a little like my proconsul, Marcus. We could call him Marcus." Josiah Worthington said, "He looks more like my head gardener, Stebbins. Not that I'm suggesting Stebbins as a name. The man drank like a fish." "He looks like my nephew Harry," said Mother Slaughter..."He looks like nobody but himself," said Mrs. Owens, firmly. "He looks like nobody." "Then Nobody it is," said Silas. "Nobody Owens.
Neil Gaiman
He looked with horror round the room: nobody could say he hadn't done right to get away from this, to commit any crime... When the man opened his mouth he heard his father speaking, that figure in the corner was his mother: he bargained for his sister and felt no desire... He turned to Rose, 'I'm off,' and felt the faintest tinge of pity for goodness which couldn't murder to escape.
Graham Greene
A girl is like a young tree, she said. You must stand tall and listen to your mother standing next to you. That is the only way to grow strong and straight. But if you bend to listen to other people, you will grow crooked and weak. You will fall to the ground with the first strong wind. And then you will be like a weed, growing wild in any direction, running along the ground until someone pulls you out and throws you away.
Amy Tan
I ask now, standing with my scissors among my flowers, Where can the shadow enter? [. . .] I am sick of the body, I am sick of my own craft, industry and cunning, of the unscrupulous ways of the mother who protects, who collects under her jealous eyes at one long table her own children, always her own.
Virginia Woolf