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

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

That it should come to this,
But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two,
So read more

That it should come to this,
But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two,
So excellent a king, that was to this
Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my mother
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth,
Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on, and yet within a month--
Let me not think on't; frailty, thy name is woman--
A little month, or ere those shoes were old
With which she followed my poor father's body
Like Niobe, all tears, why she, even she--
O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason
Would have mourned longer--married with my uncle,
My father's brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules.

The one point on which all women are in furious secret rebellion
against the existing law is the saddling read more

The one point on which all women are in furious secret rebellion
against the existing law is the saddling of the right to a child
with the obligation to become the servant of a man.

The mother says to her daughter: Daughter bid thy daughter, to
her daughter, that her daughter's daughter is crying.
read more

The mother says to her daughter: Daughter bid thy daughter, to
her daughter, that her daughter's daughter is crying.
[Lat., Mater ait natae die natae filia natum
Ut moneat natae plangere filiolam.]

If I were hanged on the highest hill,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
I know read more

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!

A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive.

A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive.

The bravest battle that ever was fought;
Shall I tell you where and when?
On the maps read more

The bravest battle that ever was fought;
Shall I tell you where and when?
On the maps of the world you will find it not;
It was fought by the mothers of men.
- Joaquin Miller (pseudonym of Cincinnatus Hiner Miller),

There is none,
In all this cold and hollow world, no fount
Of deep, strong, deathless love, read more

There is none,
In all this cold and hollow world, no fount
Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within
A mother's heart.

The inhabitants of the villages ceased, they ceased in Israel,
until that I Deborah arose, that I arose a read more

The inhabitants of the villages ceased, they ceased in Israel,
until that I Deborah arose, that I arose a mother in Israel.