Top 45 Jane Hawking Quotes

The goddess Physics was Stephen’s idol. I was not jealous of her, but she did give me some cause for concern.

Don’t ever believe what you see in films.

Intellectually, Stephen was a towering giant. Bodily, he was as helpless as a newborn. The functions I fulfilled were all maternal rather than marital.

Stephen could be highly critical of people other than his closest relatives… He considered my friends to be easy victims and had no compunction in monopolizing the conversation at parties with his controversial opinions.

Through singing, I met my second husband, Jonathan, who is a professional musician. He transformed our lives and relieved me of much of the strain that I had been carrying for so long.

That the Hawkings were eccentric, even odd, was well known. That they were aloof, convinced of their own intellectual superiority over the rest of the human race, was also widely recognized in St. Albans, where they were regarded with a suspicion and awe.

I was born in Norwich, which I still regard as the most beautiful city in the world, despite the attempts by the Luftwaffe to destroy it in the Second World War.

To me, Stephen was my husband and the father of my children; one does not say to one’s husband, ‘Oh, you’re so clever! I must worship the ground under your feet, or in this case, wheels.’

I felt very committed to Stephen, and I didn’t think he could manage without me. I wanted him to carry on doing his amazing work, and I wanted the children to have a stable family behind them – so we just carried on.

After the success of Stephen’s book, a whole new crowd of people became very interested in him, and the family was just pushed into a corner.

I like to keep fit, and when not gardening or singing solo or in a choir, I cycle, play tennis, swim, dance, and practise yoga.

I was always extremely determined, but I was also quite timid.

I couldn’t go off and leave Stephen. Coals of fire would have been heaped on my head if I had.

As Stephen’s fame began to take off in a big way, and because he was so immersed in physics, it was becoming more and more difficult to communicate with him.

When Stephen was first diagnosed, we weren’t actually going out together, but I was already falling in love with him. He had beautiful eyes and this amazing sense of humour, so we were always laughing.

I never sacrificed myself. I did what I did out of love.

The gas man came one day, and he said, ‘What does your husband do?’ so I told him, and he said, ‘What’s the use of that?’ He had a point, but on the other hand, I firmly believed in Stephen and his brilliance. I encouraged him to popularise his science just because the gas man had been so insulting.

I couldn’t let him die; I was the agent of life for Stephen.

Gardening is one of my enduring, favourite, and most rewarding pastimes.

Being Stephen’s carer was such a struggle, and it’s a lonely job looking after a disabled person. Thinking back, I honestly wonder how I got through it.

The family and Stephen were my reason for being. Without that, I felt I was nothing.

The truth was, there were four partners in our marriage. Stephen and me, motor neurone disease, and physics. If you took out motor neurone disease, you are still left with physics.

No matter how bad I was feeling, I always thought, ‘Stephen must be feeling worse.’

Just because you can no longer have a physical relationship with someone doesn’t mean you don’t love them.

Stephen’s the great survivor, isn’t he? He just goes on and on.

When I was little, I used to spend a lot of time making up stories when I was put to bed.

We were under scrutiny when Stephen became rich and famous. The media were in the house, and camera leads were absolutely everywhere – it was just nightmarish.

I don’t think of my life as having two marriages; I think of it as a continuum.

Although a linguist, I was always interested in, and fascinated by, Stephen’s explanations of his work and proud of his discoveries and achievements.

I did the first proofreading of ‘A Brief History of Time,’ and when it came to writing my memoir, I consulted many scientific friends so that, contrary to what many critics supposed and were churlish enough to voice, I did actually write the scientific sections myself.

I understood Stephen’s point of view because if you had been given a death sentence at the age of 21, would you find it easy to believe in a loving God? Also, Stephen’s work was taking him into the depths of the universe, and it was, I thought, fairly understandable that there wasn’t much room for God in his equations.

When I was playing with the children, I felt I ought to be working, and when I was working, I felt I ought to be playing with the children.

I felt that Stephen had become such a significant figure, a scientist of such international renown, that at some future date, someone would be sure to attempt an inaccurate, sensationalised biography, possibly including me, possibly writing me out of the script.

We would look up at the night sky together, and although Stephen wasn’t actually very good at detecting constellations, he would tell me about the expanding universe and the possibility of it contracting again and describe a star collapsing in on itself to form a black hole in a way that was quite easy to understand.

In the early days of our marriage, Stephen could walk around Cambridge on my arm – a stick on one hand, leaning on me with the other. I carried a baby on one arm and Stephen on the other.

My philosophy is that while there’s life, there’s hope. It’s as simple as that.

Stephen’s belief was that if you were free to do your absolute best work, you would be rewarded. My belief was that if you gave all of yourself to what you believed was right, then that would be enough.

Our marriage was a great success. Stephen achieved what he wanted to achieve, we kept going for a very long time, and we had three wonderful children together.

We met in our hometown of St. Albans when I had just left school and Stephen was starting his Ph.D. studies in Cambridge.

Of course I don’t think any of the past will go away. The thing is, with me and Stephen, for many years, I put every spoon of food into his mouth, dressed him, and bathed him. You do not forget that experience.

The tension between Stephen’s atheistic stance and my faith always existed, but neither of us tried to convert the other. I am not evangelical.

My generation of women was the last for whom marriage and a family were the goal.

In a sense, I am achieving what I set out to do – to devote myself to Stephen, to give him the chance of fulfilling his genius. But what have I become in the process? Who am I? What is there left of me? I am beginning to doubt my own identity.

The carer of the disabled person is always in the background. People don’t want to hear about the sleaze and the nitty-gritty and the hardship.

Living here in Cambridge, you had to have an identity. It was not enough to be a wife. So I did a Ph.D. in medieval Spanish poetry.