“Mothers are the best lovers in the world, but I don’t mind…”

I want my daughters to be beautiful, accomplished, and good. To be admired, loved, and respected. To have a happy youth, to be well and wisely married, and to lead useful, pleasant lives, with as little care and sorrow to try them as God sees fit to send.

Housekeeping ain’t no joke.

All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That’s his.

Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

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!If I were drowned in the deepest sea,Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!I know whose tears would come down to me,Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!If I were damned of body and soul,I know whose prayers would make me whole,Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!