It’s the curse of motherhood. You’re required to love us even when we vex you.
The whole of religion has been one uniform curse to the human race…
Cursed be the father of the bride of the blacksmith, Who forged the iron for the ax, With which the woodsman hacked down the oak, From which the bed was carved, In which was conceived the great-grandfather Of the man who was driving the carriage, In which your mother met your father.
I abjure with a sincere heart and unfeigned faith, I curse and detest the said errors and heresies, and generally all and every error and sect contrary to the Holy Catholic Church.
May the Bird of Paradise fly up your nose, May an elephant caress you with his toes.
I would the gods had nothing else to do but to confirm my curses. (“Coriolanus”)
Curses are like young chickens, they always come home to roost.
You shall betroth a wife, but another man shall lie with her; you shall build a house, but you shall not dwell in it; you shall plant a vineyard, but shall not gather its grapes. (Deuteronomy 28:30)
Curses are like young chickens, And still come home to roost.