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Quote by Alan Cohen

Author

Alan Cohen

Alan Cohen, born on February 28, 1950, is a renowned writer whose works span a variety of genres, including humor, philosophy, and self-help. Cohen is known for his unique sense of humor and profound insights, and his books have been beloved by readers worldwide. more

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“My friends, if we tend to the things that are important in life, if we are right with those we love and behave in line with our faith, our lives will not be cursed with the aching throb of unfulfilled business. Our words will always be sincere, our embraces will be tight. We will never wallow in the agony of 'I could have, I should have.' We can sleep in a storm. "And when it's time, our good-byes will be complete.”

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“Grateful For You A gratitude poem from a Mother to her miracle child You are a wonderful treasure My love for you I cannot measure In you, God gave me an Angel Through you, I was blessed by the Heavens An answered prayer of way back Just when I thought it was over My precious gift from Above, you showed up! Filled with your bright smile and loads of fun You make me so fine Oh, what a privilege in life! To be given such a sense of pride As I call you my child While you chose to be mine You are so kind You bring me hope every time I could go through heavy tides With you by my side I always rise You help me to make many strides I cannot drown, not even once You give me a better chance To become a daring Mom I have peace, even in the storm Because you teach me to stay strong So glad you came along And never left me all alone What an honour to be your Mother! My perfect match Such a great catch! My very best friend Will you lend me a hand? To walk beside you on this land You are all I ever need And I am so grateful for you”

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Book:From My Mother's Classroom: A Badge of Honour for a Remarkable Woman
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“The Priceless Job of Motherhood God of Heaven! I am here on Earth To follow a Divine mandate Of being a loving Mother I know I have no strength To this on my own I pray for your wisdom So, I can carry this task Without a fright As I raise these children Please help me remember I was never hired for this role But highly favoured, to find myself in it Hence, I acknowledge this privilege Lord, I lift my hands And bow to Your Majestic name I say from the top of my voice Thank you Father For the priceless job of Motherhood!”

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“My Precious Child If I had pearls or petalite A few emeralds Countless tanzanite Some diamonds Perhaps gold and granite If I had all of that On my hands All over my place Would that replace you? No ways, not at all You are too special in my heart Being positioned in my life By God’s Divine design A gift that I treasure Hence, I cannot chase after fortune I am the most fortunate To walk this journey with you You make my days shine brighter I embrace the bliss you brought along Through you I gained wisdom Among other things in this world You carry so much worth With you I found wealth That is why I appreciate you For so many reasons Throughout the seasons I need so much of you My precious child!”

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“Sitting under a tree, I studied my options. The fall flowers were in full bloom: verbena, goldenrod, chrysanthemum, and a late-blooming rose. The carefully tended city beds around the park held layers of textured evergreen but little color. I set to work, considering height, density, texture, and layers of scent, removing touch-damaged petals with careful pinches. When I had finished, spiraling white mums emerged from a cushion of snow-colored verbena, and clusters of pale climbing roses circled and dripped over the edge of a tightly wrapped nosegay. I removed every thorn. The bouquet was white as a wedding and spoke of prayers, truth, and an unacquainted heart.”

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“When my hunger grew to the point of distraction, I climbed onto buses and rode to the Marina, Fillmore Street, or Pacific Heights. I toured high-end delis, lingering at polished marble countertops and sampling an olive, a slice of Canadian bacon, or a sliver of Havarti. I asked the questions Elizabeth would have asked: which olive oils are unfiltered; exactly how "fresh" was the albacore, the salmon, the sole; how sweet were the season's first blood oranges?”

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“At the end of each day, Elizabeth read to me. She had shelves and shelves of children's classics, dusty hardcovers with stamped gold titles: 'The Secret Garden', 'Pollyanna', and 'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn'. But I preferred her viticulture textbooks, the illustrations of plants and chemical equations clues to the world that surrounded me. I memorized vocabulary- nitrate leaching, carbon sequestration, integrated pest management- and used them in casual conversation with a seriousness that made Elizabeth laugh.”

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Book:The Language of Flowers
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