Simple, sincere people seldom speak much of their piety. It shows itself in acts rather than in words, and has more influence than homilies or protestations. Beth could not reason upon or explain the faith that gave her courage and patience to give up life, and cheerfully wait for death. Like a confiding child, she asked no questions, but left everything to God and nature, Father and Mother of us all, feeling sure that they, and they only, could teach and strengthen heart and spirit for this life and the life to come. She did not rebuke Jo with saintly speeches, only loved her better for her passionate affection, and clung more closely to the dear human love, from which our Father never means us to be weaned, but through which He draws us closer to Himself. She could not say, I'm glad to go, for life was very sweet for her. She could only sob out, I try to be willing, while she held fast to Jo, as the first bitter wave of this great sorrow broke over them together.
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So if I asked you about art you could give me the skinny on every art book ever written...Michelangelo? You know a lot about him I bet. Life's work, criticisms, political aspirations. But you couldn't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling. And if I asked you about women I'm sure you could give me a syllabus of your personal favorites, and maybe you've been laid a few times too. But you couldn't tell me how it feels to wake up next to a woman and be truly happy. If I asked you about war you could refer me to a bevy of fictional and non-fictional material, but you've never been in one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap and watched him draw his last breath, looking to you for help. And if I asked you about love I'd get a sonnet, but you've never looked at a woman and been truly vulnerable. Known that someone could kill you with a look. That someone could rescue you from grief. That God had put an angel on Earth just for you. And you wouldn't know how it felt to be her angel. To have the love be there for her forever. Through anything, through cancer. You wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in a hospital room for two months holding her hand and not leaving because the doctors could see in your eyes that the term 'visiting hours' didn't apply to you. And you wouldn't know about real loss, because that only occurs when you lose something you love more than yourself, and you've never dared to love anything that much. I look at you and I don't see an intelligent confident man, I don't see a peer, and I don't see my equal. I see a boy. Nobody could possibly understand you, right Will? Yet you presume to know so much about me because of a painting you saw. You must know everything about me. You're an orphan, right? Do you think I would presume to know the first thing about who you are because I read 'Oliver Twist?' And I don't buy the argument that you don't want to be here, because I think you like all the attention you're getting. Personally, I don't care. There's nothing you can tell me that I can't read somewhere else. Unless we talk about your life. But you won't do that. Maybe you're afraid of what you might say.
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With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children, England mourns for her dead across the sea. Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of spirit, Fallen in the cause of the free. Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres. There is music in the midst of desolation And a glory that shines upon our tears. They went with songs to the battle, they were young, Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow. They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted, They fell with their faces to the foe. They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old; Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them. They mingle not with laughing comrades again; They sit no more at familiar tables of home; They have no lot in our labour of the day-time; They sleep beyond England's foam. But where our desires are and our hopes profound, Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight, To the innermost heart of their own land they are known As the stars are known to the Night; As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain, As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness, To the end, to the end, they remain.
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A Woman is home caring for her children! even if she can't. Trapped in this well-built trap, A Woman blames her mother for luring her into it, while ensuring that her own daughter never gets out; she recoils from the idea of sisterhood and doesn't believe women have friends, because it probably means something unnatural, and anyhow, A Woman is afraid of women. She's a male construct, and she's afraid women will deconstruct her. She's afraid of everything, because she can't change. Thighs forever thin and shining hair and shining teeth and she's my Mom, too, all seven percent of her. And she never grows old.
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A friend never defends a husband who gets his wife an electric skillet for her birthday.
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Far in the forest, dim and old, For her may some tall vault unfold—
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Then whisper by that holy spring, Where for her sake I would have died,...
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A beautiful woman must expect to be more accountable for her steps, than one less attractive.
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Eliza has a ton of potential. She is still a little raw but is very fast and athletic. Eliza is a player who you like more and more each time you see her. She is someone we always knew had the ability, but she will continue to improve. I believe the sky is the limit for her. She's an athlete that has split time between track and soccer, and when she gets the chance to have all the eggs in one basket at Memphis, she will continue to excel.
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We hear much of chivalry of men towards women; but ... it vanishes like dew before the summer sun when one of us comes into competition with the manly sex. Let a woman sit, weep, wring her hands, and exult in her own helplessness, and the modern knight buckles on his imaginary breastplate and draws his sword in her behalf; but when the woman girds up her loins for the battle of life, ready to fight like a lioness, if need be, to put food in the mouths of her children, let her select for her field the living-room or the cooking range.
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Man was nature's mistake she neglected to finish him and she has never ceased paying for her mistake.
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A woman's flattery may inflate a man's head a little; but her criticism goes straight to his heart, and contracts it so that it can never again hold quite as much love for her.
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I would by no means wish a daughter of mine to be a progeny of learning; I don't think so much learning becomes a young woman: for instance, I would never let her meddle with Greek, or Hebrew, or algebra, or simony, or fluxions, or paradoxes, or such inflammatory branches of learning; nor will it be necessary for her to handle any of your mathematical, astronomical, diabolical instruments; but... I would send her, at nine years old, to a boarding-school, in order to learn a little ingenuity and artifice: then, sir, she would have a supercilious knowledge in accounts, and, as she grew up, I would have her instructed in geometry, that she might know something of the contagious countries: this is what I would have a woman know; and I don't think there is a superstitious article in it.
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Fortune can, for her pleasure, fools advance, And toss them on the wheels of Chance.
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Nature herself has not provided the most graceful end for her creatures. What becomes of all these birds that people the air and forest for ou...
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Will Where's Elizabeth Jack She's safe, just like I promised. She's all set to marry Norrington, just like she promised. And you get to die for her, just like you promised. So we're all men of our word really... except for Elizabeth, who is in fact, a woman.
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Say what you will, making marriage work is a woman's business. The institution was invented to do her homage; it was contrived for her protection. Unless she accepts it as such --as a beautiful, bountiful, but quite unequal association --the going will be hard indeed.
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An elderly woman died last month. Having never married, she requested no male pallbearers. In her handwritten instructions for her memorial service, she wrote, 'They wouldn't take me out while I was alive, I don't want them to take me out when I'm dead.
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M-O-T-H-E-RM is for the million things she gave me,O means only that she's growing old,T is for the tears she shed to save me,H is for her heart of purest goldE is for her eyes, with love-light shining,R means right, and right she'll always be,Put them all together, they spell MOTHER,A word that means the world to me.
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Islam exhorts men to respect and honor women. The status of the wife is so respected in Islam that it is not obligatory for her to do household chores. She may do them of her own accord. But if her husband forces her to do household work, he will have to account for his conduct in the hereafter.
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Fortune can, for her pleasure, fools advance, And toss them on the wheels of Chance.
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M-O-T-H-E-R M is for the million things she gave me, O means only that she's growing old, T is for the tears she shed to save me, H is for her heart of purest gold; E is for her eyes, with love-light shining, R means right, and right she'll always be, Put them all together, they spell MOTHER, A word that means the world to me.
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Aristotle uses a mother's love for her child as the prime example of love or friendship.
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There is no architect Can build as the Muse can; She is skilful to select Materials for her plan.
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I'm disappointed that it was not the barest minimum. It's a death penalty for her because she's 64 years old ... I think she's in a state of shock, understandably so.
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A loving wife will do anything for her husband except stop criticizing him and trying to improve him.
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We are no guiltier in following the primative impulses that govern us than is the Nile for her floods or the sea for her waves.
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For her own person, It beggared all description: she did lie...
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Be kind to your mother-in-law, but pay for her board at some good hotel.
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When a man has once loved a woman he will do anything for her except continue to love her.
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