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Maternal Love Quotes

Browse 36 quotes about Maternal Love.

Maternal Love Quotes

“I cannot imagine how much I must’ve suffered in my previous lives to be fortunate enough to have parents like you in this life.”

“The thought of foals being taken away from their mothers, ripped without warning from everything familiar and loved, then starved, clubbed, or sold for meat, tore her heart to shreds. Tears filled her eyes as she imagined Blue and the nurse mare, scared and confused and frantic, wondering why someone had taken their babies. She could almost feel the horrible, heavy pain in their chests, the terror and helplessness in their minds. It didn't matter that they were animals. Mares still possessed the maternal instinct. She had seen it with her own eyes when Bonnie Blue looked back at her newborn filly. It was love at first sight. Her mother had never looked at her that way, but Julia had studied enough interactions between mothers and daughters to recognize unconditional love when she saw it.”

“Maternal love is an instinctive and natural impulse, and animals possess it in a degree as high as that of human beings. This alone is enough to show that it is not true love, that it is not of moral origin ; for all morality proceeds from the intelligible character which animals, having no free will, do not possess. The ethical imperative can be heard only by a rational creature ; there is no such thing as natural morality, for all morality must be self-conscious.”

“If Mama had lived, ... I hope she would have supported and approved of her daughter’s ambitions to accomplish something in this life. She taught me to read when I was five years old. If she knew what I was doing now, if she knew that I had been accepted at the university—the university , Papa—don’t you think she would have been just a little bit proud?”

“A single day is not enough, to honor all that’s you; You gave me a lifetime, a gift to which none can compare. A million stars, with all their might, could never shine so true; As your pure heart, and lovely smile, when speaking words of care. Nurturing hands, you brought up life, maternal sacrifice, When days of darkness set, you help to see the dawn gleam. You’re the strength I lean on, when my own does not suffice, Wisdom laden grace, you’ve shown the light for much to be seen. So I’ll take this day, to speak loud from heart, of all that’s true; I love you, mom. Is all I’ll say, for nothing more will ever do.”

“The poor mother! This is the reward you get for your love. Is that what you expected? Well, the fact of the matter is that mothers don't expect rewards. There's no rhyme or reason — they just love. Do you achieve greatness and fame, are you proud, is your name on everyone's lips, do your deeds resound around the world? Then your mother trembles with joy, she weeps, laughs and prays long and ardently. But you, the son, rarely think of sharing your success with the woman who bore you. Are you lacking in wit or spirit, has nature denied you beauty, are your heart and body dogged by ill health, do people shun you, and is there no place for you among them? Then so much the bigger is your place in a mother's heart, and so much more tightly does she enfold you in her arms, ill-favored, failed creature though you are, and so much the longer and more fervently does she pray for you.”

“when a woman herself becomes pregnant, it is as if she links directly back into an intact matrilineal network where all the mothers, all the wombs, all the foetuses and infants are connected. This does something peculiar to maternal temporality: it has the ability to stretch time out in linear directions to the distant past and future, and equally to concertina in upon itself to a point that is always in the present. Folding out, folding in, the past and the future, hinged together like delicate butterfly wings. In the way that matryoshka dolls can be opened out and displayed in a long line from smallest to biggest, or packed one inside the other, becoming one body, one space, one time.”

“Sonnet of Breastfeeding From the breasts a world is fed, With their warmth society is raised. Yet we ignore their sacred place, Without breasts we'll all be erased. Woman's breasts are not objects, With or without a baby clinging. We may hail them means of pleasure, Only when the person is asking. Way more than triggers of romance, Breasts are symbolic of motherhood. A society that doesn't respect mothers, Will never ever attain humanhood. A world that is safe for mothers, Is safe for all beyond age and genders.”

“All this was in contrast to the idea that a newborn, on the basis of cortical immaturity, is a being who remembers and understands nothing: a person only within the context of the mother’s acknowledgment, blank, a species of human cabbage.”

“Medieval illustrations show people in every other human activity-making love and dying, sleeping and eating, in bed and in the bath, praying, hunting, dancing, plowing, in games and in combat, trading, traveling, reading and writing—yet so rarely with children as to raise the question: Why not? Maternal love, like sex, is generally considered too innate to be eradicable, but perhaps under certain unfavorable conditions it may atrophy. Owing to the high infant mortality of the times, estimated at one or two in three, the investment of love in a young child may have been so unrewarding that by some ruse of nature, as when overcrowded rodents in captivity will not breed, it was suppressed. Perhaps also the frequent childbearing put less value on the product. A child was born and died and another took its place.”

“...if I were an angel of the Lord, I would mark the doors of each of my children's homes with an X, so that plague and misfortune would pass over them. Alas, I lack the qualifications. So when there was still world and time enough I fretted. I nagged. I corrected. I got everything wrong.”

“I was once married and part of their universe, although in the end I didn't succeed in having children. But I was quite focused on it. I wanted children with all my heart and did everything I could , even IVF. I looked at the babies around me, read and thought about them. I saw myself in that maternal role. The entire meaning of my life at the time was linked to having children. I felt somehow that I had to have a baby, that everything would be ruined if I didn't, and nothing else was anywhere near as important. That phase of my life lasted a long time. Almost an entire decade.”

“I looked up again at the stained glass window. There she was, the same smile on her lips. I'm sure you were totally freaked out when they told you that you were pregnant, but at least your baby's birth is now celebrated all around the world! And so many people have been saved by you, and by your child! Then again, to be eternally known as the Virgin Mother, as if that's the only thing that gave meaning to your existence... Hey did you have any hobbies of your own? Or maybe there was a singer you were really into? You must have gotten stressed out sometimes. I mean, being called the Virgin Mother, even after your son was all grown up... And then to have him crucified like that. I can't imagine how hard that must have been. I just hope you managed to live your life the way you wanted, to take naps when you felt like it, to know yourself by a name that made sense to you...”

“When the mother nurses her child, the boundary of the individual self becomes permeable and the common good is the only one that matters. The maternal gift economy is a biological imperative. There is no meritocracy or earning of sustenance. Mothers do not sell their milk to their babies, it is pure gift, sos that life can continue. The currency of this economy is the flow of gratitude, the flow of love, literally in support of life.”

“I didn't set out to write a book with no real male characters, but men were not important to my narrator, who was much more interested in maternal and pseudo-maternal love, so they were unimportant to me. I didn't even notice the lack of men in the story until I finished it. But once I did notice it, I was kind of delighted. Apparently, my subconscious is totally sexist.”

“Maternal love, like an orange tree, buds and blossoms and bears at once. When a woman puts her finger for the first time into the tiny hand of her baby and feels that helpless clutch which tightens her very heartstrings, she is born again with her newborn child.”

“The excuse or toleration of cruelty upon any living creature by a woman is a deadly sin against the grandest force in nature - maternal love ... In not a single instance known to science has the cure of any human disease resulted necessarily from this fallacious method of research.”