Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Borne. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Borne Quotes And Sayings by 89 Authors including Voltaire,James Russell Lowell,Jean Sasson,Sheila Kitzinger,William C. Bryant for you to enjoy and share.
Everything can be borne except contempt.
This child is not mine as the first was; I cannot sing it to rest; I cannot lift it up fatherly, And bless it upon my breast. Yet it lies in my little one's cradle, And sits in my little one's chair, And the light of the heaven she 's gone to Transfigures its golden hair.
born with a book in her mouth.
Birth isn't something we suffer but something we actively do and exult in!
The victory of endurance born.
Years before, when a boy, and romantic as most boys are, his lordship had sometimes regretted that the Emsworths, though an ancient clan, did not possess a Family Curse. How little he had suspected that he was shortly to become the father of it.
I wasn't raised, I was built.
At the Throne of Glory it is not the nobly-born that are beloved, but the nobly-risen.
This world is twisted beyond hope, when lowborn smugglers must vouch for the honor of kings.
No intellect is orphaned, despite all the foundling hearts. All sons are born stranded because all fathers are sons. Every child is told, even those suckled on the teats of wolves.
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and shew'd how fields were won.
has borne him to the seventh crystal heaven
I grieved, but a part of me felt a lightening of a burden that I had carried all my life: that I could never be worthy of them, that I would always disappoint or fail them. As an unknown slave in the fields of the baron, I knew the worst was over. I had failed them. At least I could not do so again
When I was born I brought no joy, my father said he wanted a boy!
If Jesus was a baby, there was a point, on that Holiest of nights, in that Holiest of mangers, where he made a big, Holy load.
Delivered helpless and amazed
From the womb of the All, I am
waiting dazed
For memory to be erased.
Then I shall know the Elysium
That lies outside the monstrous womb
Of time from out of which I come.
Out of the unconscious lips of babes and sucklings are we satirized.
Writing is like carrying a fetus.
For he comes, the human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
From a world more full of weeping
than he can understand.
When the newborn sniffed strangely at her chest, she stared into its eyes and saw a world only two days old. Those two and a half kilograms righted her, turned her vantage to a future kinder than experience had taught her to expect.
On his brow a leaf of oaken, Cangeling child shall be his fate. Understanding words strange spoken, Chased by anger, fear, and hate.
Evening you gather back
all that dazzling dawn has put asunder:
you gather a lamb, gather a kid,
gather a child to its mother.
Leads to Bear Down
Bear Down
gives way to little crown
Crown concedes the Head
then Head produces All
Snip the fruity cord
little King begins to bawl
then grows bored
So begins his fall
What art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee Benvolio, look upon thy death.
Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,
A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark
Is by a forged process of my death
Rankly abused: but know, thou noble youth,
The serpent that did sting thy father's life
Now wears his crown.
God bears with the wicked, but not forever.
Thus unlamented pass the proud away,
The gaze of fools and pageant of a day;
So perish all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow
For others' good, or melt at others' woe.
We bear the sole, relentless tenderness.
She has assisted at more than one Birth, has endur'd a hard-drinking and quarrelsome troop of Men-Folk, - who is this unfamily'd man in a Frock to call her child?
Pain, scorned by yonder gout-ridden wretch, endured by yonder dyspeptic in the midst of his dainties, borne bravely by the girl in travail. Slight thou art, if I can bear thee, short thou art if I cannot bear thee!
Birth was the death of me
The courier of wolves the daughter the dance.
Hopeless.
Betrayal.
Forbidden.
Departure.
Happy is it to place a daughter; yet it pains a father's heart when he delivers to another's house a child, the object of his tender care.
A healthy newborn has been delivered in a more or less satisfying fashion. The baby is feeding well, has short nails and a clean bottom, and has not drowned. What now?
Born from sea foam high up to the tops of the waves on the trail of love.
Secret, smug believers! God never gives you
more than you can bear, they like to say, as if
the strong should be punished for their strength:
We can bear it. So we got it.
But what about my baby? How weak does
a newborn have to be to escape God's burdens?
He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion.
The poets pinned tragedies
to their chests like ribbons.
He was born in grief, my queen, and that shadow hung over him all his days.
Here is he laid to whom for daring deed, nor friend nor foe could render worthy meed.
Thou art a slave, whom fortune's tender arm
With favour never clasp'd; but bred a dog.
Borne by the trustless wings of false desire.
Lady
is safely delivered of a son, to the great joy of that noble family. The expression, of a woman's having brought her husband a son, seems to be a proper and cautious one; for it is never said, from whence.
Furless now, upright, My banished
and experimental
child
You said, though your own heart condemn you
I do not condemn you.
I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe, and am not contained between my hat and my boots,
For strength to bear is found in duty alone, and he is blest indeed who learns to make the joy of others cure his own heartache.
When you can't bear something but it goes on anyway, the person who survives isn't you anymore; you've changed and become someone else, a new person, the one who did bear it after all.
As naturally as the oak bears an acorn and the vine a gourd, man bears a poem, either spoken or done.
The birth of a new born baby is a great joy.
Daughter of wheat and grain, Betrothed to soil and stain, Your lifeblood drips, The scales tip, But will it be in vain?
Verily, I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, and range with humble livers in content, than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, and wear a golden sorrow.
Nobly to live, or else nobly to die,Befits proud birth.
Tread softly upon the earth because the faces of the unborn look up at you.
A wanderer is man from his birth. He was born in a ship On the breast of the river of Time.
Better were it to be unborn than to be ill bred.
Against my will, my fate,
A throne unsettled, and an infant state,
Bid me defend my realms with all my pow'rs, And guard with these severities my shores.
T is the work of many a dark hour, many a prayer, to bring the heart back from an infant gone.
Howl,heart is a heavy burden.
I wasn't born of a whistle or milked from a thistle at twilight
No I was all horns and thorns sprung out fully formed, knock-kneed and upright.
a child is born free
I never yet did hear, That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear
Inside my head I carry: my baby goat, my baby brother, my ama's face, our family's future. My bundle is light. My burden is heavy.
Birth was the death of him.
Like as the culver on the bared bough
Sits mourning for the absence of her mate
GLOUCESTER: I do not know that Englishman alive With whom my soul is any jot at odds, More than the infant that is born to-night: I thank my God for my humility.
The burden she carried was different from yours, and it had worn on her for many years. When I knew her she had forgotten joy, although I believe Arlbeth gave her a little back again.
Whose wit in the combat, as gentle as bright, Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade.
Judges and honoured men, bringing a boy of my name, with a forehead that I know and golden hair, to this place - then fair to look upon, with not a trace of this day's disfigurement -
I saw a stony mask come upon her lined face as she slew the weak houswife she had been and gave birth to the warrior that is buried inside every woman's heart,one who is unleased when her children's lives are at stake.
Whilst the wolflets bayed,
A grave was made,
And then with the strokes of a silver spade,
It was filled to make a mound.
And for two cold days and three long nights,
The father tended that holy plot;
And stayed by where his wife was laid, In the grave within the ground.
He carries well, to whom it waighes not.
[He carries well, to whomit weighs not.]
The baby's body lay in a bassinet. He was the size of a half loaf of bread, his bones light as a bird's and stretched with thin skin.
Fortune proclaimed
My child was not only carried by me, but by the universe.
My aching heart was soothed; I let myself be borne upon the current of this gentle night ...
Poverty fled, she who gives birth to virile men.
Bear the Cross cheerfully and it will bear you.
so far remained unbroken. Now my turn had come. In early springtime, when I was just sixteen, my mother took me to the house where she had won her shield so many years before. The Lady Abicel, long dead, had left her house and lands, along with her
The bearing and the training of a child Is woman's wisdom.
A babe at the breast is as much pleasure as the bearing is pain.
The fisher droppeth his net in the stream, And a hundred streams are the same as one; And the maiden dreameth her love-lit dream; And what is it all, when all is done? The net of the fisher the burden breaks, And always the dreaming the dreamer wakes.
I feel a strong immortal hope, which bears my mournful spirit up beneath its mountain load; redeemed from death, and grief, and pain, I soon shall find my [child] again within the arms of God.
This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul, too.
Child of mortality, whence comest thou? Why is thy countenance sad, and why are thine eyes red with weeping?
In soul of every newborn baby,
words are waiting to be written.
The burden which is well borne becomes light.
Ma!' The new born's call of value 'ace'
though small in size, plethora of space;
cozy from womb, with warmest embrace,
Always I felt first being with you - safe!
and felt luckiest, all with God's grace.
When you found yourself carrying another life inside you, and you were only a child yourself, you'd automatically forget all about the grunts and pains of labour. What had truly conquered your whole thoughts then were the shock, shame and panic.
Burdens willingly taken on, he decided, come to define the bearer. 'So
A flow'ret crushed in the bud,
A nameless piece of Babyhood,
Was in her cradle-coffin lying;
Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying
To give birth is a fearsome thing; there is no hating the child one has borne even when injured by it.
The dreadful joy Thy Son has sent
Is heavier than any care;
We find, as Cain his punishment,
Our pardon more than we can bear.
A vi'let on the meadow grew, That no one saw, that no one knew, It was a modest flower. A shepherdess pass'd by that way
Light footed, pretty and so gay; That way she came, Softly warbling forth her lay.
What is birth to a man if it shall be a stain to his dead ancestors to have left such an offspring?
ARCHDUKE FRANZ FERDINAND. 1863-1914. LLIE LIGHTLY UPON HIM EARTH, THO' HE / LAID MANY A HEAVY BURDEN UPON THEE.
Everywhere and nowhere as the March wind begin to rise and moan like a dead Berserker winding his horn, it drifted on the wind, lonely and savage.
Shall Joy wear what Grief has fashioned?
Birth is a beautiful thing.
The pain of an unpublished manuscript is akin to the trauma of bearing an unborn.
Birth is nothing where virtue is not