Quotes About Father

I didn't listen to any of my dad's scores.

My father was a screenwriter, and I kind of grew up in that world.

When it comes to scripts, I take a critical look at them and then sound it off with Dad.

My father taught me to love Flamengo, which has always been my second home.

I'm a very secretive person. That's how I grew up. My father was very secretive.

And being that my father is gone in immigrant and I have you know - that I owe my existence to immigration, I think that the fear of immigration that has existed in American history from the first day, I just find it to be wrong.

My father was a chef but hadn't owned his own business. I didn't like that. In my heart of hearts, I knew I wanted to be in business.

I was really into classifieds for awhile. I'm a big negotiator. My father owned a car dealership when I was younger... it's just in my blood.

My dad owned a propane company in Oklahoma.

My dad owned Cadillacs all my life.

When you look at me see the father, the awesome dad, the author, film director, business owner, champion, friend, Hufflepuff beast.

The corncob was the central object of my life. My father was a horse handler, first trotting and pacing horses, then coach horses, then work horses, finally saddle horses. I grew up around, on, and under horses, fed them, shoveled their manure, emptied the mangers of corncobs.

I could not bear to think that I wrote a five-hundred page novel just because I needed to love my father.

My father would read me Page Six instead of, like, kids' stories.

My father was an artist. When life was harder and he couldn't get jobs, he painted houses, but he was artistic. When I went to see his work, it was special. Somewhere along the line, I felt I was special. I didn't know why.

My father was in the ad business, and he wanted to be a painter.

I was a painter and decorator with my dad for three years.

And I started with this: I have not painted at all my childhood. In fact, I never painted. But I helped my father who was a house painter and decorative painter. He made stage sets, he made glass paintings, he made everything.

I only wrote one diary to be read by others. I went on an exchange to France, working as an au pair, when I was 14 and in a battered red notebook I wrote my experiences for my father to read later.

My father is pretty much a self-made man, and I am proud of that. He was born in Patiala and crossed the border from India to Pakistan when he was four.

I was proud of Papa for his sports.

Papa died when he was 77.

Papa loved to have me show off my scars.

The paradox is, I can't miss the good things about my father while he is alive, but I will of course miss him... when he is dead.