Men are what their mothers made them.

One race there is of men, one of gods, but from one mother we both draw our breath.

A Jewish man with parents alive is a fifteen-year-old boy, and will remain a fifteen-year-old boy till they die!

It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons.

Mother died today. Or maybe it was yesterday, I don’t know. 

Family! Thou art the home of all social evil, a charitable institution for comfortable women, an anchorage for house-fathers, and a hell for children.

Again, men in general desire the good, and not merely what their fathers had.

All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That’s his.

Motherhood is the strangest thing, it can be like being one’s own Trojan horse.

Few sons are equal to their fathers; most fall short, all too few surpass them. 

Every man sees in his relatives, and especially in his cousins, a series of grotesque caricatures of himself.