A Quote by Missy Elliot

I'm close to my mother, and I could sit talking on the phone with her all day. — © Missy Elliot
I'm close to my mother, and I could sit talking on the phone with her all day.
The film world is a crazy place to be. You sit around all day waiting for the phone to ring. Are people talking about you or aren't they?
For me, Mother's Day means giving undivided attention to my mother. It's not about buying her luxurious stuff, it's about giving her my complete attention when she is talking, discussing something, and I think it's the best gift for her.
Part of Clary wanted to lean sideways and put her head on her mother’s shoulder. She could even close her eyes, pretend everything was all right. The other part of her knew that it wouldn’t make a difference; she couldn’t keep her eyes closed forever.
I admire the women who can have babies and jump right back to work. As a nursing mother, I couldn’t sit there and just pump all day. I needed to be close to my baby.
I am quite close to my mother. In fact, I speak to her every day.
Seven years after my mother's passing, I still reach for the phone for a split second to call her. We spoke every day.
I will go back to the great sweet mother, Mother and lover of men, the sea. I will go down to her, I and no other, Close with her, kiss her and mix her with me.
When my mother took her turn to sit in a gown at her graduation, she thought she only had two career options: nursing and teaching. She raised me and my sister to believe that we could do anything, and we believed her.
I woke up one day and thought: 'I want to write a book about the history of my body.' I could justify talking about my mother because it was in her body that my body began.
I woke up one day and thought: I want to write a book about the history of my body. I could justify talking about my mother because it was in her body that my body began.
Recreational talking is, along with private singing, one of our saddest recent losses. Like singing, talking has become a job for trained professionals, who are paid considerable sums of money to do it on television and radio while we sit silently listening or, if we're truly lonely and determined, call the station and sit holding the phone waiting for a chance to contribute our two cents' worth.
My youngest sister, Cindy, has Down syndrome, and I remember my mother spending hours and hours with her, teaching her to tie her shoelaces on her own, drilling multiplication tables with Cindy, practicing piano every day with her. No one expected Cindy to get a Ph.D.! But my mom wanted her to be the best she could be, within her limits.
Every act of motherhood contains a dual intent, as the mother holds the child close and prepares it to move way from her, as she supports the child and stands it firmly on its own feet, and as she guards it against danger and sends it out across the yard, down by the stream, and across the traffic-crowded highway. Unless a mother can do both - gather her child close and turn her child out toward the world - she will fail in her purpose.
All my life, I had this idea that if I could unravel the mystery that was my mother, then I could help save her. But it didn't really work. We were close, but she struggled with mental illness and alcoholism, and it was rough at times.
My mother saw her mother... her father walked out when they were very young and it was a lot of, I'd say more verbal abuse than physical, but it was the same. And my mother, back in the 70s, became an advocate for victims of domestic violence way before anybody in the Legislature was talking about it.
[On her mother:] My relationship with her is close, painful, and skaky, and I always have to keep searching for a sign of love. Everything I do, I do to please her, to make her smile, to ward off her fury. This work is extremely exhausting.
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