And the question is always When are you going to have kids? Rather than Do you want to have kids?

It didn't matter that there was a war on our doorstep. She had things to do, places to be.

No woman can call herself free until she can choose consciously whether she will or will not be a mother.

A pair of young mothers now became the centre of interest. They had risen from their lying-in much sooner than the doctors would otherwise have allowed. (French doctors are always very good about recognizing the importance of social events, and certainly in this case had the patients been forbidden the ball the might easily have fretted themselves to death.) One came as the Duchesse de Berri with l'Enfant du Miracle, and the other as Madame de Montespan and the Duc du Maine. The two husbands, the ghost of the Duc de Berri, a dagger sticking out of his evening dress, and Louis XIV, were rather embarrassed really by the horrible screams of their so very young heirs, and hurried to the bar together. The noise was indeed terrific, and Albertine said crossly that had she been consulted she would, in this case, have permitted and even encouraged the substitution of dolls. The infants were then dumped down to cry themselves to sleep among the coats on her bed, whence they were presently collected by their mothers' monthly nannies. Nobody thereafter could feel quite sure that the noble families of Bregendir and Belestat were not hopelessly and for ever interchanged. As their initials and coronets were, unfortunately, the same, and their baby linen came from the same shop, it was impossible to identify the children for certain. The mothers were sent for, but the pleasures of society rediscovered having greatly befogged their maternal instincts, they were obliged to admit they had no idea which was which. With a tremendous amount of guilty giggling they spun a coin for the prettier of the two babies and left it at that.

The only thing worse than fighting a giant scorpion was fighting a giant scorpion who was trying to protect her young.

I am a mother and mothers don't have the luxury of falling apart in front of their children, even when they are afraid, even when their children are adults.

Are you scared of going in to see the raghnaid [the council]?— asked a gray female pup. —Are you cag mag [crazy]? If a bear was his Milk Giver, you think he's scared of the raghnaid?

Shonda, how do you do it all?The answer is this: I don't.Whenever you see me somewhere succeeding in one area of my life, that almost certainly means I am failing in another area of my life....That is the trade-off.That is the Faustian bargain one makes with the devil that comes with being a powerful working woman who is also a powerful mother. You never feel 100 percent okay, you never get your sea legs, you are always a little nauseous.

Nevertheless the severance is rather casual and it drops a stain on our admiration of Nora. Ibsen has put the leaving of her children on the same moral and emotional level as the leaving of her husband and we cannot, in our hearts, asssent to that. It is not only the leaving but the way the play does not have time for suffering, changes of heart. Ibsen has been too much a man in the end. He has taken the man's practice, if not his stated belief, that where self-realization is concerned children shall not be an impediment.

It seems to me that since I've had children, I've grown richer and deeper. They may have slowed down my writing for a while, but when I did write, I had more of a self to speak from.

The professor leaned forward. "But there's nothing more profound than creating something out of nothing." Her lovely face turned fierce. "Think about it Cath. That's what makes a god" or a mother. There's nothing more intoxicating than creating something from nothing. Creating something from yourself.

The best way to keep children at home is to make the home atmosphere pleasant, and let the air out of the tires.

A first child is your own best foot forward, and how you do cheer those little feet as they strike out. You examine every turn of flesh for precocity, and crow it to the world. But the last one: the baby who trails her scent like a flag of surrender through your life when there will be no more coming after--oh, that' s love by a different name.

my mother, poor fish,wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times aweek, telling me to be happy: Henry, smile!why don't you ever smile?and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was thesaddest smile I ever saw

A mother is the most important blessing of your life.

Oh mommy! You are my world, my love. I am your little boy, and I stole your heart.

Blessed your mum, who carried you in a womb for nine months.

A woman is her mother. That's the main thing.

In this great house of the Motherland, I am just like any other woman in any other of the innumerable houses of my people... . It's that I so truly feel myself the mother of my people.

Life is nothing but a series of crosses for us mothers.