Discarded Mother Quotes & Sayings

Do you have a sleeping bag?"
I stared at him. "No. I lost it in the great salt-dip of '06. — Kim Harrison

To fill in the silence Tsukuru lowered the needle onto the record again, went back to the sofa, and settled in to listen to the music. This time he tried his best not to think of anything in particular. With his eyes closed and his mind a blank, he focused solely on the music. Finally, as if lured in by the melody, images flashed behind his eyelids, one after the next, appearing, then disappearing. A series of images without concrete form or meaning, rising up from the dark margins of consciousness, soundlessly crossing into the visible realm, only to be sucked back into the margins on the other side and vanish once again. Like the mysterious outline of microorganisms swimming across the circular field of vision of a microscope. — Haruki Murakami

During my sorrowful outburst, my mother had remained entirely impassive. But then why not? Was she not mad? Nay, she was not. She had successfully discarded, as I also wished to do, the arduous yoke of a troublesome existence and had escaped to a tranquil haven somewhere beyond the reach of our world. — Geoff Cooper

I was learning the craft of poetry, which really was an intensive version of what my mother had taught me all those years ago - the craft of writing as the art of thinking. Poetry aims for an economy of truth - loose and useless words must be discarded, and I found that these loose and useless words were not separate from loose and useless thoughts. — Ta-Nehisi Coates

I think maybe my attention span is too long to tweet. — Nick Rhodes

For soon the body is discarded, Then what does it feel? A useless log of wood, it lies on the ground, Then what does it know? Your worst enemy cannot harm you As much as your own thoughts, unguarded. But once mastered, No one can help you as much, Not even your father or your mother. — Gautama Buddha

In 2003, GlaxoSmithKline paid $88 million in civil fines for overcharging Medicaid for its anti-depressant Paxil. — Bernie Sanders

Mama covered her ears with her hands, but I knew she heard me. Tears streamed from her eyes and dribbled from her chin.
Part of me wanted to blot her face with a tissue, real tender-like, but the evil me, the girl tired of keeping her feelings bottled up for fear I'd upset mama, was blissful at causing a commotion.
Maybe it was cruel to make mama cry, but at least I had cracked her shell and got a reaction.
Any response was better than talking to a zombie — April Young Fritz

I read. A lot. I read so much that some might call me a book whore. I can read about a book boyfriend who is a gritty biker in a motorcycle club or a sexy drummer in a world famous band. He can be a military man with a bad case of PTSD or a billionaire with a fetish for bondage and spanking. Any way you slice it, multiple book boyfriends are a hell of a lot safer to my feelings than one living, breathing, idiot who will eventually break my heart. I — Jemma Bell

I have often regretted my speech, never my silence. — Simonides

Poetry keeps me
in a highly drunken state
of divinity. — Sanober Khan

When you're the Woman Upstairs, nobody thinks of you first. Nobody calls you before anyone else, or sends you the first postcard. Once your mother dies, nobody loves you best of all. It's a small thing, you might think; and maybe it depends upon your temperament; maybe for some people it's a small thing. But for me, in that cul-de-sac outside Aunt Baby's, with my father and aunt done dissecting death and shuffling off to bed behind the crimson farmhouse door, preparing for morning mass as blameless as lambs and as lifeless as the slaughtered - I felt forsaken by hope. I felt I'd been seen, and seen clearly, and discarded, dropped back into the undiscriminated pile like a shell upon the shore. — Claire Messud

You go back and look at things like Civil War, World War II, Vietnam, a lot of people dying in state-sponsored arm conflict — Juan Williams

How easy it was to mistake clear reasoning for correct reasoning! — Frank Herbert

Quietness and confidence shall be your greatest quality. — Priest

They never see what you are." Shocked, Jude glanced around to see who'd spoken, then realized she had.
"Don't they?" Brenna wanted to know, lifting her brow as she topped off Jude's glass yet again.
"They see a reflection of their own perception. Whore or angel, mother or child. Depending on their view, they're compelled to protect or conquer or exploit. Or you're a convenience," she murmured.
"Easily discarded. — Nora Roberts

To choose Norm Coleman over Walter Mondale is like going to a great steakhouse and ordering the tuna sandwich. — Garrison Keillor

Water benefits us without taking
from us. It cleanses us, nourishes us,
and calms our restlessness.

So is a mother to her child. From the
moment of birth, a child's well-being
is her only concern.

A wise mother cleans and discards
the child's waste without comment.
The child's excrement, its tears, its
rages, are all allowed to be and
discarded without emotion.

A wise mother does not judge her child. — Vimala McClure

My father's boots went ahead. His boots were to me as unique and familiar, as much an index to himself, as his face was. When he had taken them off they stood in a corner of the kitchen, giving off a complicated smell of manure, machine oil, caked black mud, and the ripe disintegrating material that lined their soles. They were a part of himself, temporarily discarded, waiting. They had an expression that was dogged and uncompromising, even brutal, and I thought of that as part of my father's look, the counterpart of his face, with its readiness for jokes and courtesies. Nor did that brutality surprise me; my father came back to us always, to my mother and me from places where our judgment could not follow. — Alice Munro

My mother told me that truth is like my skin, a beautiful, protective covering, and the things that people say or do can be easily changed or discarded. She told me truth comes from the heart. — Stewart Lewis

I always say when you see that old black-and-white footage of the rocket on the launch pad and it falls over and explodes, that's because people had slide rules. Not having the decimal point is a real drawback. You want the decimal point, take it from me. — Bill Nye

Every February, (Charles)Shultz drew a strip about Charlie Brown's failure to get any valentines. Schroeder, in one installment, chides Violet for trying to fob off a discarded valentine on Charlie Brown several days after Valentine's Day, and Charlie Brown shoves Schroeder aside with the words "Don't interfere
I'll take it!" But the story Schulz told about his own childhood experience with valentines was very different. When he was in first grade, he said, his mother helped him make a valentine for each of his classmates, so that nobody would be offended by not getting one, but he felt too shy to put them in the box at the front of the classroom, and so he took them all home again to his mother. — Jonathan Franzen

They say that men should look at the mother of the girl they intend to marry," Yvette said. "Girls who did what I did should consider the wife a man has discarded or worn out, and know thye are not going to do much better. — V.S. Naipaul

In short, no pattern is an isolated entity. Each pattern can exist in the world only to the extent that is supported by other patterns: the larger patterns in which it is embedded, the patterns of the same size that surround it, and the smaller patterns which are embedded in it. — Christopher Alexander

I stare at the pile of discarded remnants and think of my mother. Did she touch that pillar there? Does her scent still linger in a fragment of glass or a splinter of wood? A terrible emptiness settles into my chest. No matter how much I go about living, there are always small reminders that make the loss fresh again. — Libba Bray

Putting the pastries onto a large tray, I asked Manna if she envisioned the words to her poems in colors. Nabokov writes in his autobiography that he and his mother saw the letters of the alphabet in color, I explained. He says of himself that he is a painterly writer.
The Islamic Republic coarsened my taste in colors, Manna said, fingering the discarded leaves of her roses. I want to wear outrageous colors, like shocking pink or tomato red. I feel too greedy for colors to see them in carefully chosen words of poetry. — Azar Nafisi

It is frustrating having to walk through America having to bob and weave people's impressions of me because they see a tall, black guy walking down the street. That is frustrating. — Justin Simien