Quotes About Father

My father dreamed that one day he might teach another child to love ships in bottles. He knew there would be both sadness and joy in it; that it would always hold an echo of me.

greatest hope. Last night it had been my father who'd

All her young life she has tried to please her father, never quite realizing that, as a girl, she never could.

I never dreamed I would so enjoy having a father. It is like having another interesting mind, somewhat similar to your own but also strangely different, to rummage through.

There we are informed that He is the father of Jesus, who we invariably see depicted as a white man. He thinks we are born of sin and embody it; he thinks man should have dominion over the earth, which includes land and water, women, animals and children.

Gatsby's self-willed metamorphosis from farm boy to prince is many ways identical to my father's. Like Gatsby, my father fueled this transformation with the colossal vitality of his illusion. Unlike Gatsby he did this on a school teacher's salary.

Although I'm good at enumerating my father's flaws, it's hard for me to sustain much anger at him. I expect this is partly because he's dead, and partly because the bar is lower for fathers than for mothers.

Perhaps I identify too well with my father's illicit awe. A trace of this seems caught in the photo, just as a trace of Roy has been caught on the light-sensitive paper...It's a curiously ineffectual attempt at censorship. Why cross out the year and not the month? Why, for that matter, leave the photo in the envelope at all? In an act of prestidigitation typical of the way my father juggled his public appearance and private reality, the evidence is simultaneously hidden and revealed.

My mother must have bathed me hundreds of times. But it's my father rinsing me off with the purple metal cup that I remember most clearly. The suffusion of warmth as the hot water sluiced over me... ...the sudden, unbearable cold of its absence.

I grew to resent the way my father treated his furniture like children, and his children like furniture.

I did not draw a conscious parallel to my own sexuality, much less my father's. But the immersion -- like green dishwashing liquid bathing a cuticle -- left me supple and open to possibility.

It's true that he didn't kill himself until I was nearly twenty. But his absence resonated retroactively, echoing back through all the time I knew him. Maybe it was the converse of the way amputees feel pain in a missing limb. He really was there all those years, a flesh-and-blood presence smelling of sawdust and sweat and designer cologne. But I ached as if he were already gone.

And in a way, you could say that my father's end was my beginning...Or more precisely, that the end of his lie coincided with the beginning of my truth

Phoebe Broome] 'Well,' she said at last. 'You've now met my father. At his worst.' [Lord Vladimir] 'Being myself widely considered my family's most difficult member, I would not presume to comment.' 'That is... gentlemanly of you.

I am not all now but a universe of skin and breath & changing thought and burning hand & softened heart in the old bed of my skin From this single birth reborn that I am to be so— My own Identity now nameless neither man nor dragon or God but the dreaming Me full of physical rays' tender red moons in my belly & Stars in my eyes circling And the Sun the Sun the Sun my visible father making my body visible thru my eyes!

Logen pulled the knife out of his boot and rammed the blade into the side of the giant's neck. He looked surprised, for just a moment, then blood dribbled from his mouth and down his chin. He let go of Logen's shirt, stumbled back, spun slowly round, bounced off one of the stones and crashed on his face. Seemed that Logen's father had been right. You can never have too many knives.

She sat in silence as he limped out, teeth gritted. Click, tap, grunt. Click, tap, grunt. That mixture of cunning, ruthlessness, burning ambition and constant pain was far from unfamiliar. She had heard it said that every woman ends up marrying her father. Until that moment, she had always imagined herself the exception.

Elállt az es?, a földek fölött kisütött a nap. Halvány szivárvány nyújtózott a szürke égbolt alatt. Monza kíváncsi lett volna, tényleg manók laknak-e a tövében, ahogyan az apja mondta neki, vagy ott is csak szar van, ahogy mindehol máshol. Kihajolt a nyeregb?l és a búza közé köpött. Manószar talán.

I grew up in New Jersey and my father was a golf pro, so I was groomed for sports, but I wasn't very good, so my interests lay elsewhere.

First time I ever joint the Chorus," Don Lewiston said, "I forgot the face of my father

If he took you camping after he died, my boy, then you would have a story to tell!

The second kid, he hears that John Donne quote—We're scarce our fathers' shadows cast at noon—and nods and thinks, Ah, shit, ain't that the truth?

Oh, yeah," my dad said. "Check out Such Men Are Dangerous, the novel Block wrote as Paul Kavanagh. That book is less like a novel, more like getting mugged in an alley." Such Men Are Dangerous was the story of an ex-soldier who had done ugly things in the war and come home looking to do some ugly things right here. While it has been decades since I read it, I think my dad's assessment was roughly correct.

The memory of that day in the dump made him a little sentimental for his father—they had had some good times together, and Buddy had made a decent meal in the end. Really, what else could you ask from a parent?