Mum S Lap Quotes

When a mood of "not belonging" is haunting our mind and tolling the bell for relief or happiness, life may be like a scar on the canvas of our dreams. Now is the time to wake up and slip back to the basics, in the vein of crawling back to mum's lap. ("The grass was greener over there") ~ Erik Pevernagie

When life throws yumminess in your lap, take a whiff. And if necessary, a lick or two. ~ S.C. Stephens

It doesn't really matter whether you grip the arms of the dentist's chair or let your hands lie in your lap. The drill drills on. ~ C.S. Lewis

QUESTION: Are you suggesting that history is irrelevant, then, and the temporal span of humankind merely the recycling of tropes?
ANSWER: Well, I think it's two things. It's always two things, unless it's three. The first thing is moms and martyrs are the way we will think, just as when we dance we tend to tango. Jung suspected as much, you know, and every story could, I suppose, be seen as such a spyglass. Second, either there is or there isn't, point-blank, and if there is not, and something besides lead backs our philosophies, then previously Truth flashed its temper like a fictitious schoolgirl showing her panties, then went all cowboy cool in the neonew, barely speaking, keeping mum, despite the fact we's done forgot dear mammy, savoring the slow satisfying burn of a cigarette before the bonfire of a billion bodies, and still millions more wait their turn, we're better at keeping our appointments, at any rate, skinny corpses stripped of teeth and hair and skin, difference plucked like daisies, for there is no difference; in ether words, to hear the Great Apes tell it, every plague is one for the pointless and every poppy's got jack to do with Us. Hoohah! A particularly ballsy bit of business given the most recent nearing too close, we're singing our rondel with a bellyful of gravy and sourmash, we're at the highpocked end, and there's no more to come, come the dawn. Though bear in mind we've no pret-a-porter poodle sniffing around here, nossir, we're not afraid to s ~ Vanessa Place

This directing thing just sort of fell my way and landed in my lap. ~ Charles S. Dutton

Jem," he said, "are you responsible for this?"
"Yes sir."
"Why'd you do it?"
Jem said softly, "She said you lawed for niggers and trash."
"You did this because she said that?"
Jem's lips moved, but his, "Yes sir," was inaudible.
"Son, I have no doubt that you've been annoyed by your contemporaries about me
lawing for niggers, as you say, but to do something like this to a sick old lady is
inexcusable. I strongly advise you to go down and have a talk with Mrs. Dubose," said
Atticus. "Come straight home afterward."
Jem did not move.
"Go on, I said."
I followed Jem out of the livingroom. "Come back here," Atticus said to me. I came
back.
Atticus picked up the Mobile Press and sat down in the rocking chair Jem had
vacated. For the life of me, I did not understand how he could sit there in cold blood and
read a newspaper when his only son stood an excellent chance of being murdered with
a Confederate Army relic. Of course Jem antagonized me sometimes until I could kill
him, but when it came down to it he was all I had. Atticus did not seem to realize this, or
if he did he didn't care.
I hated him for that, but when you are in trouble you become easily tired: soon I was
hiding in his lap and his arms were around me.
"You're mighty big to be rocked," he said.
"You don't care what happens to him," I said. "You just send him on to get s ~ Harper Lee

This time she is the one who leans forward. She is on her knees in front of him, grasping his shirt collar, pulling him close to her. He is clearly as startled by this as she herself is, but he allows himself to be drawn in. Their mouths meet, she moves even closer still until she is sitting on his lap takes his hands from her waist and puts them on her breasts, does everything but devour him, desperate to see if she can have something beyond her bondage with the razor.

Pictures of the accident start writhing beneath her closed lids, competing for attention with the image she holds of his face. A tidal wave of emotion threatens to engulf her. She is suddenly back in the basement with the bookcases. "I can't." Willow pushes him away. "I can't"

Willow claps her hands over her ears in a vain attempt to drown out the dreadful sounds of the accident. She jumps up, wheels away from him, fumbles in her pocket for the razor that she always keeps there. But just as she's preparing to slice, to save herself, to end the nightmare visions, Guy's hand clamps down on hers He pulls her down on the floor again roughly.

"No." He's shaking his head. "Not here. Not now. Not with me around."

"I have to." Willow is gasping. "Just let me do it!"

"All right then, you can cut yourself, but not like this, not like some concerned animal. You have to do it in front of me."

Willow doesn't flinch as she presses the blade into her flesh. S ~ Julia Hoban

I'd ask you to be careful tomorrow, if I thought you'd listen to me,' I said to him.
He looked sympathetic but annoyed. 'Mum, I'm not a baby anymore.' Then sensing that I was on the verge of crying, he hugged me gently to his chest.
I couldn't remember the last time he'd hugged me this way. With my face pressed next to his heart I whispered softly, 'You'll always be my baby.' The hug grew firmer and the teardrops began to fall freely. ~ Teresa Schulz

Single parenthood:

Where you bite every bullet
Suck up spells of pouring rain
And wake with open wounds
Still dripping with the liquid of yesterday's pain
The objective being to simply get up, withstand, endure
Fight an inch harder, love a little more
And draw a smile on your face
Tie a ribbon of calm around your racing heart
For the one(s) that you so beautifully adore ~ Christine Evangelou

Walt, at about eleven, had a routine of looking at Seymour's wrists and telling him to take off his sweater. "Take off your sweater, hey, Seymour. Go ahead, hey. It's warm in here." S. would beam back at him, shine back at him. He loved that kind of horseplay from any of the kids. I did, too, but only off and on. He did invariably. He thrived, too, waxed strong, on all tactless or underconsidered remarks directed at him by family minors. In 1959, in fact, when on occasion I hear rather nettling news of the doings of my youngest brother and sister, I think on the quantities of joy they brought S. I remember Franny, at about four, sitting on his lap, facing him, and saying, with immense admiration, "Seymour, your teeth are so nice and yellow!" He literally staggered over to me to ask if I'd heard what she said. ~ J.D. Salinger

Mum," she frowned "if one has freedom of worship to either be a Christian, Muslim, Jew, Buddhist or pagan: why can't one have freedom to marry whoever or whatever one loves? ~ S.A. David

Why don't you just do it, then?" Racath hissed. "Just kill me. I dare you."

Now, I assume you know what this is. You've seen this before in other stories - the part where the disgruntled villain stands over the hero. He is triumphant, the hero now at his mercy. But when commanded to slay him, he hesitates. He lowers his sword. And he says: "I cannot."

If you are to take away but one thing from the words I have spoken, let it be this: there is a world of difference between "I Cannot" and "I will not".

"I cannot" is a surrender. It implies a lack of options. Someone who says such a thing does so only because they have no other choice. They do not WISH to relent - in fact, they usually want to obey their mandate and destroy the hero at their feet. But they cannot, because the guilt is too unbearable. But that does not make him a better man; all that a man who says "I cannot" has done, is given in to the compulsion to repent.

Allow me to make myself perfectly clear - I HAD other options. Easy options. Simple options. I could have killed Racath Thanjel that day. I could have killed him and all the others, too. I could have left them dead and bloody on that grassy hill, and gone trotting back to the Imperator's lap. I could have shrugged off the attrition that had dogged my every step, thought better of my disenssion, given up on all hope of absolution and accepted my damnation. And I could have spent the rest of eternity destroying God' ~ S.G. Night

When the Warrior pulled her half onto his lap and she felt the hard bulge of his erection thrusting up from his groin pressing into her hip, Katya grew nervous. She pulled away, gasping, and pressed him back with her hand on his chest. "Wait! Wait." She licked her tingling lips and touched them with her fingertips, wondering what she'd been thinking to awaken this sleeping giant. What had happened to her vow to fight him off with all her strength?
Turan's dark eyes glowed like two banked coals ready to ignite into flame. "Please. More," he begged hoarsely. "Please."
She suddenly realized that, despite the fact he could snap her in two if he wished, she was the one with the power. He didn't intend to hurt or force her. ~ Bonnie Dee

Not long after Chris died, a national magazine published a story comparing his life with that of the man accused of killing him. There are some parallels; they both grew up in Texas. But the article skimped on the differences. Look at the decisions they made, look at what they did with their lives, look at the responsibilities they took on--or shirked.
Chris saw a great deal of combat. He never made excuses for his behavior. He didn't always do the right thing, but he tried to do the right thing by others. Chris got the good grace, as Abel did, not by his birthright, but by his effort.
As I sat listening to the prosecutor, I thought his parallel extended through Chris's life--not solely to the man who shot him, but to the haters, to the people who ended up in legal disputes with him or his estate, for whatever reason. They all wanted something he had.
Not money, but authenticity. Real achievements. Soul.
Grace.
And of course that's the one thing you can't take from someone else, even if you steal his life.
Chris became famous without wanting to. Opportunities that others had to fight and claw for seemed to fall in his lap. But most of all, people just liked him for being who he was, with seemingly no effort on his part at all.
Of course, there was effort, and there was great struggle. He had to persevere--The Navy didn't want him at all when he first tried to enlist. But people don't see that part. They don't see the long days at BUD/S, or ~ Taya Kyle

Yet they were so tempting. Because they all had those blissful views of the river. Mum liked to sit on her balcony, reading Swedish thrillers, drinking supermarket Chardonnay. ~ S.K. Tremayne

Even if you're going through hardships, it doesn't mean that God isn't with you, he doesn't love you, or he isn't watching out for you. He may be testing your faith, seeing if you'll turn TO him in your time of crisis or turn AWAY from him. And if you're a true Christian, then that means that you're his child, and he's your father. And in the end, children always turn to their parents, and they'll forever need them. Just as we will always need God in our life to survive, and live a life as a Christian. Your life may not me extravagant here, but it will be in heaven, where you can be in the Lord's lap. ~ No Longer Available

When dawn spread its cool clear flush over the meadows and fields and thorny pastures to the north and east, Duane pulled an old lawn chair out of the cabin and sat down to watch, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands. It was chilly enough that he threw an old poncho over his lap. ~ Larry McMurtry

You okay, Mum?" said Rob.
"I'm fine," said Rachel. She went to reach for her cup of coffee and found that she didn't have the energy to even lift her arm. ~ Liane Moriarty

Whatever you want," he said. "Will you please come here now?"
I slipped a piece of protective tissue over my drawing and flipped the book closed. A piece of blue scratch paper slid out, the line I'd copied from Edward;s poetry book. "Hey. Translate for me, Monsieur Bainbridge."
I set the sketchbook on my stool and joined him on the chaise. He tugged me onto his lap and read over his head. "'Qu'ieu sui avinen, leu lo sai.' 'That I am handsome, I know."
"Verry funny."
"Very true." He grinned. "The translation. That's what it says. Old-fashionedly."
I thought of Edward's notation on the page, the reminder to read the poem to Diana in bed, and rolled my eyes. You're so vain.I bet you think this song is about you..."Boy and their egos."
Alex cupped my face in his hands. "Que tu est belle, tu le sais."
"Oh,I am not-"
"Shh," he shushed me, and leaned in.
The first bell came way too soon. I reluctantly loosened my grip on his shirt and ran my hands over my hair. He prompty thrust both hands in and messed it up again. "Stop," I scolded, but without much force.
"I have physics," he told me. "We're studying weak interaction."
I sandwiched his open hand between mine. "You know absolutely nothing about that."
"Don't be so quick to accept the obvious," he mock-scolded me. "Weak interaction can actually change the flavor of quarks."
The flavor of quirks, I thought, and vaguely remembered something about being charmed. I'd sat ~ Melissa Jensen

Englishwomen are resilient creatures. I do not know why people assume we are sweet and docile, innocent and weak." Mary unfolded her arms and rested her hands primly on her lap. "Look at Boadicea, who led forces against the Roman army for a long, long time. Queen Elizabeth, who often had to remark she was 'only a woman' to spare the feelings of gentlemen she could outthink. Even Aunt Danae has survived three husbands and is entertaining thoughts of a fourth, on her own terms. You have no need to worry about me. ~ Jennifer Ashley

And what about you? You must be some kind of beardless dwarf?"
"I'm not a dwarf! I'm a girl. And actually I'm tallest in my class."
"You mean to say, that you're a daughter of Eve?"
"Well my mum's name is Helen ... "
"Y-yes, but, you are in fact ... human? ~ C.S. Lewis

On August 16, 1996, when an eight-year-old female gorilla named Binti Jua helped a three-year-old boy who had fallen eighteen feet into the primate exhibit at Chicago's Brookfield Zoo. Reacting immediately, Binti scooped up the boy and carried him to safety. She sat down on a log in a stream, cradling the boy in her lap, giving him a few gentle back pats before taking him to the waiting zoo staff. This simple act of sympathy, captured on video and shown around the world, touched many hearts, and Binti was hailed as a heroine. It was the first time in U.S. history that an ape figured in the speeches of leading politicians, who held her up as a model of compassion. ~ Frans De Waal

No one in the world can take the place of your mother. Right or wrong, from her viewpoint you are always right. She may scold you for little things, but never for the big ones. ~ Harry S. Truman

How many years threaded on a needle of blood? Hands slack on lap he sits looking out at the winter dawn with the cancelled eyes of junk. ~ William S. Burroughs

Trapped in a conspiracy
of chance we sit close inside
this sardine can on wheels
horning the gasfume streets

of this dust-tired afternoon.
How your shoulders
strain your shirt; a stray wind cools
your sweat in my skin.

"This heat," I mutter,
"melts the very bones,"
saying this as I feel
inside me awakening

sweet April, fragrant May
unfolding flower fingers
on her lap. ~ Merlie M. Alunan

Why don't you and I take a trip to the vending machine?" their mum said to Namir. "That's if you're a dinosaur who likes chocolate."
Namir was off off the bed like a shot. "All dinosaurs like chocolate silly! ~ Siobhan Curham

Situated on an island which I think it will one day cover, it rises like Venice from the sea, and like that fairest of cities in the days of her glory, receives into its lap tribute of all the riches of the earth. ~ Frances Trollope

If I set my stones, my mum would be an opal, all swirly colours and clashy statements. I would put her at the north point of my stone compass and be grateful to her for my brains, and the fact that I stand up for myself. I'd be grateful to her for the ease with which I laugh, although I wish she'd rein in her own guffaws sometimes because really, who needs to be that loud? I was grateful that she didn't hover over me like some parents who couldn't seem to let their (nearly adult) children out of their sight without keeping constant telephone contact. He'll, I was even grateful that she had strict house rules that were a pain in the arse, because we both knew it would be much easier if she said yes, but she did no because she really believed no was the right answer. ~ Gabrielle Williams

My mum was very conscious about fashion and my dad was born into the tailoring tradition, so fashion has always been my life, although now, really, I wear the same thing - just in different weights - light and heavy cashmere in winter and cotton in summer. ~ Domenico Dolce

I won't eat veal, and my mum won't eat lamb, because she thinks it's a bit harsh to eat cute things. ~ Nicholas Hoult

I can write with a crying child on my lap. I have. Often. ~ David Baldacci

The forestland thickened at one point, and without warning it opened onto a road. Fading back behind a screen of ferns, I watched the traffic. It appeared I'd reached a major crossroads. A stone marker at the intersection indicated the Akaeriki road downhill, and to the north lay the town of Thoresk.
A town. Surely one anonymous female could lose herself in a town? And while she was at it, find some shelter?
Big raindrops started plopping in the leaves around me. The coming storm wouldn't be warded by tree branches and leaves, that was for certain. Clutching my half-empty basket to my side, I started up the road, careful not to limp if anyone came into view from the opposite direction.
I saw a line of slow wagons up ahead, with a group of small children gamboling around them. I hurried my pace slightly so I would look like I belonged with them; I had nearly caught up when a deep thundering noise seemed to vibrate up from the ground.
"Cavalcade! Cavalcade!" a high childish voice shrieked.
The farmers clucked at their oxen and the wagons hulked and swung, metal frames creaking, over to one side. The children ran up the grassy bank beside the road, hopping and shrieking with excitement.
Feeling my knees go suddenly watery, I scrambled up the bank as well, then sat in the grass with my basket on my lap. I checked my kerchief surreptitiously and snatched my hand down as two banner-carrying outriders galloped into view around the bend I'd walked so sh ~ Sherwood Smith

It's not that I think that computers don't have their place, but surely their place is not in bed, which is my favorite place to read, and surely their place is not snuggled up with a cat in your lap in an old armchair. You can't have your laptop computer and your cat in your lap simultaneously, while trying to manage a cup of tea, which you might spill on your computer. On the other hand, if you spilled your cup of tea on your book -- well, Charles Lamb would probably just like it better. He once said that he particularly liked books that had old muffin crumbs in them. Muffin crumbs in your computer would not be a good idea. ~ Anne Fadiman

Mum and Dad met campaigning on the Spanish civil war. Both were active peace campaigners. They died in 1986 and '87. ~ Jeremy Corbyn