Before I would hurt a child, I would slit my wrists.
I had NO IDEA that mothering my own child would be so healing to my own sadness from my childhood.
What a distressing contrast there is between the radiant intelligence of the child and the feeble mentality of the average adult
If you treat a sick child like an adult and a sick adult like a child, everything usually works out pretty well.
If we believe the psychiatrists, a sign of a future serial killer is a child who delights in torturing and killing animals. George W. [Bush], as a child, did exactly that. In a May 21, 2000, New York Times puff piece about the values Bush gained growing up in Midland, Texas, Nicholas D. Kristof quoted Bushs childhood friend Terry Throckmorton: 'We were terrible to animals, recalled Mr. Throckmorton, laughing. A dip behind the Bush home turned into a small lake after a good rain, and thousands of frogs would come out. Everybody would get BB guns and shoot them, Mr. Throckmorton said. Or we would put firecrackers in the frogs and throw them and blow them up.
Days of wine and roses laugh and run away, Like a child at play.
For a mother the project of raising a boy is the most fulfilling project she can hope for. She can watch him, as a child, play the games she was not allowed to play; she can invest in him her ideas, aspirations, ambitions, and values -- or whatever she has left of them; she can watch her son, who came from her flesh and whose life was sustained by her work and devotion, embody her in the world. So while the project of raising a boy is fraught with ambivalence and leads inevitably to bitterness, it is the only project that allows a woman to be -- to be through her son, to live through her son.
For better or worse, editing is what editors are for; and editing is selection and choice of material. That editors newspaper or broadcast can and do abuse this power is beyond doubt, but that is no reason to deny the discretion Congress provided.
It is irresponsible for this Congress to not investigate the President's lack of an exit strategy, and the fraud, waste, and abuse of U.S. tax dollars.
Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas-time.
We expect teachers to handle teenage pregnancy, substance abuse, and the failings of the family. Then we expect them to educate our children.
No one can be as calculatedly rude as the British, which amazes Americans, who do not understand studied insult and can only offer abuse as a substitute.
The child supplies the power but the parents have to do the steering.
As a child, I was very shy. Painfully, excruciatingly shy. I hid a lot in my room. I was so terrified to read out loud in school that I had to have my mother ask my reading teacher not to call on me in class.
If I had a blank piece of paper, I was scribbling on it. As a child, I was a little introverted and that was my way of expressing myself.
At the time the volatility of your innate short temper was exacerbated by the aftermath of your abuse of illicit drugs,
Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the universe, a moment that will never be again. And what do we teach our children? We teach them that two and two make four, and that Paris is the capital of France. When will we also teach them what they are? We should say to each of them: Do you know what you are? You are a marvel. You are unique. In all the years that have passed, there has never been another child like you. Your legs, your arms, your clever fingers, the way you move. You may become a Shakespeare, a Michelangelo, a Beethoven. You have the capacity for anything. Yes, you are a marvel. And when you grow up, can you then harm another who is, like you, a marvel? You must work, we must all work, to make the world worthy of its children.
... a big man, and you're a little boy, I shall ask you to have some jam," I should have failed entirely to smother my laughter. Do you think the doleful one would have seen the fun of the remark if she had any power over the body or soul of that devoted child? Nay. She would have whined about slyness, and cunning hints, and greediness, and the probabilities of utter ruin and disgrace overtaking underhand schemers, until that child would have been stunned, puzzled, deprived of self-respect, and rendered entirely wretched. Long ago I heard of a doleful one who turned ...
The school is not quite deserted, said the Ghost. "A solitary child, neglected by his friends, is left there still.
To have even known such a man as he was is an inestimable boon. To have been with him for so long as a child, to have known so intimately the man who above all others has understood childhood, is indeed a memory on which to look back with thanksgiving and with tears.
I am not a fan of people who abuse service staff. In fact, I find it intolerable. Its an unpardonable sin as far as Im concerned, taking out personal business or some other kind of dissatisfaction on a waiter or busboy.
The author of Amelia, the most singular genius which their island ever produced, whose works it has long been the fashion to abuse in public and to read in secret.
Without free speech no search for Truth is possible; without free speech no discovery of Truth is useful; without free speech progress is checked, and the nations no longer march forward towards the nobler life which the future holds for man. Better a thousandfold abuse of free speech than denial of free speech. The abuse dies in a day; the denial slays the life of the people and entombs the hope of the race.
Nothing is more the child of art than a garden.
Men tend to take abortion lightly; they regard it as one of the numerous hazards imposed on women by malignant nature, but fail to realise fully the values involved. The woman who has recourse to abortion is disowning feminine values, her values, and at the same time is in most radical fashion running counter to the ethics established by men. Her whole moral universe is being disrupted....[H]ow could they fail to feel an inner mistrust of the presumptuous principles that men publicly proclaim and secretly disregard? They learn to believe no longer in what men say when they exalt woman or when they exalt man; the one thing they are sure of is this rifled and bleeding womb, these shreds of crimson life, this child that is not there.