The pretty and sweet manner of it forced Those waters from me which I would have stopped; But I had not so much of man in me, And all my mother came into mine eyes And gave me up to tears.

That it should come to this, But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two, So excellent a king, that was to this Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my mother That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth, Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on, and yet within a month-- Let me not think on't; frailty, thy name is woman-- A little month, or ere those shoes were old With which she followed my poor father's body Like Niobe, all tears, why she, even she-- O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason Would have mourned longer--married with my uncle, My father's brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules.

They say that man is mighty, He governs land and sea, He wields a mighty scepter O'er lesser powers that be; But a mightier power and stronger Man from his throne has hurled, For the hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rules the world.

Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of children.

They say man rules the universe, That subject shore and main Kneel down and bless the empery Of his majestic reign; But a sovereign, gentler, mightier, Man from his throne has hurled, For the hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rules the world.

Motherhood is the phase of life that unfolds the hidden talents