But first, on earth as vampire sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent, Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race. There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life, Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Must feed thy livid living corse. Thy victims ere they yet expire Shall know the demon for their sire, As cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers are withered on the stem.
- Lord Byron
source: Lord Byron (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Lord Byron (Illustrated)”, p.768, Delphi Classics
topic: Daughter, Flower, Blood, Cursing, Withered
The life of a plural wife, she'd found, was a life lived under constant comparison, a life spent wondering. Sitting across from her sister-wives at Sunday dinner, the platters and serving dishes floating past like hovercraft, the questions were almost inescapable; Who of us is the most happy? Which of us is his one true love? Who does he desire the most?
- Brady Udall
source: Brady Udall (2010). “The Lonely Polygamist: A Novel”, p.150, W. W. Norton & Company
topic: Sunday, Past, Wife, Sunday Dinner, One True Love
Without religion, man is an atheist, woman is a monster. As daughter, sister, wife and mother, she holds in her hands, under God, the destinies of humanity. In the hours of gloom and sorrow we look to her for sympathy and comfort. Where shall she find strength for trial, comfort for sorrow, save in that gospel which has given a new meaning to the name of "mother," since it rested on the lips of the child Jesus?
- Henry Benjamin Whipple
source: "Dictionary of Burning Words of Brilliant Writers" by Josiah Hotchkiss Gilbert, p. 618, 1895.
topic: Daughter, Mother, Atheist, Gloom, Wives And Mothers