My mother never breast fed me. She told me that she only liked me as a friend.
My mother... she is beautiful, softened at the edges and tempered with a spine of steel. I want to grow old and be like her.
For the sight of the angry weather saddens my soul and the sight of the town, sitting like a bereaved mother beneath layers of ice, oppresses my heart.
I regard no man as poor who has a godly mother.
No man is poor who has a Godly mother.