Pastoral Resources

Ladies and gentlemen, my mother thanks you, my father thanks you, my sister thanks you, and I thank you!

I'm immensely grateful for the precious gift my mother has given me. She is my hero today and every day.

Certainty is the mother of quiet and repose, and uncertainty the cause of variance and contentions.

Why do grandparents and grandchildren get along so well? The mother.

Ignorance is the mother of devotion.

I asked my mother could I have an instrument. She said, 'Well if you go out and save your money.' So I went and got - I made me a shine box. I went out and started shining shoes, and I'd bring whatever I made.

When I was four years old, my mother owned some tenements in the Bronx.

The love of a mother is the veil of a softer light between the heart and the heavenly Father.

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

I always sang when I was little and my father, who was a great influence on me, also had a wonderful voice. He and my mother really encouraged me to sing and play the piano. They were always very supportive.

Mother was a great force in her area of evangelism.

My mother's very proud of the name she gave me. She thought it sounded rhythmically better. It doesn't really make a difference to me what people call me, but since my mother calls me Holly Marie when she's angry, I prefer just my first name.

Everything changes as a mother. Yes, work has changed. The projects that I choose are even more important to me now. The world he's growing up in and the kind of stimulus that is out there; they are so precious and I'd do anything to protect him.

That MySpace is the story of the year. Everyone but my mother is on it.

But my mother and father were married when my mom was 20 and my dad was 24.

Hatred of the mother is familiar, but the mother's hatred still comes as a surprise.

Well-behaved: he always speaks as if his mother might be listening.

I imagine a lot of people tune in simply to watch reporters get bitch-slapped by Mother Nature, and frankly, who can blame them?

I didn't grow up with my mother, and so losing her for real was like, some sort of latent childhood, some sort of unresolved issue. When she left for real, it was sort of like, I was done.

Family life was wonderful. The streets were bleak. The playgrounds were bleak. But home was always warm. My mother and father had a great relationship. I always felt 'safe' there.