Quotes About Father

Father's eyes, like fragments of ice, studied Darkstalker's every scale, and Darkstalker could feel the cold, congealing weight of Father's resentment. "He looks every inch a NightWing," Father growled. "Not a shred of me in him at all." Suspicion,

Undauntable," his father said in his icy voice. The room was empty now except for the two of them. "That man described a dragon whose scales seem to match the ones you wear. I think it's time you told me where you've been getting them.

It's an animal, Ivy. It doesn't have feelings. And your father is a hero. Now shhhh.

What?" Undauntable could sense a new simmering rage building under his father's skin. "But there was a dead dragon! The last two spies said he has its tail!

But the whole point is this: Bach had a father.' 'Heavens, Jack, what things you tell me. Yet upon recollection I seem to have known other men in much the same case.

I also never encountered a real piece of toilet paper until I went away to college, because my father would stock our bathrooms with the industrial tissue that he bought at a discount from his government wholesalers. It had all the softness and absorbency of typing paper and acted more like a frosting spreader than a piece of toilet tissue.

why can't I stop all the moving and look out over the vast arrangements and find by the contours and colors and qualities of light where my father is, not to solve anything but just simply even to see it again one last time, before what, before it ends, before it stops. But it doesn't stop; it simply ends. It is a final pattern scattered without so much as a pause at the end, at the end of what, at the end of this.

On Sackville Street, a girl who seemed to be about to choke coughed up something from her very core. / She wipes her mouth on her jute cloak / and reloads her father's four-bore. / The sky is full of coal dust.

What he liked best was taking things apart, even books, even the Bible. He said the Bible was like an owner's guide, a repair manual to an unfinished invention. He also said the Bible was a wilderness. It was one of Father's theories that there were parts of the Bible the no one had ever read, just as there were parts of the world where no one had ever set foot.

was ashamed of Father, who didn't care what anyone thought. And I envied him for being so free, and hated myself for feeling ashamed.

The more God asks us to participate in His mysteries, the more disoriented we become, because He asks us constantly to follow our dreams and our hearts. And that's difficult to do when we're used to living in a different way. Finally we discover, to our surprise, that God wants us to be happy, because He is the Father.

This anxiety to keep his father from anger was wearisome to him.

One would have said he was his son's servant rather than his father.

Father sighed. "Please spare me these arguments of yours." "Whose arguments should I use?

The silence was pregnant with noise, with muted fury, with questions the father found too disgusting to frame and with answers to which the son was incapable of giving voice.

She wore a dress the same color as her eyes her father brought her from San Francisco.

grief over her father for

career, his accomplishments, his victories, the kind of friend he was, and the kind of father, except her. But she did a good job. Most of the

Mokhtar and his friends would be working a hustle when one of them would look up. Isn't that your pops, Mokhtar? His father circled his childhood as he circled the city—a kind of sixty-foot roaming conscience.

Cancer walked all over my father, in large part because he opened the door, turned on the porch light, and invited it in heartily--You old bastard! Come in and have a vodka tonic!

What was?' said Dad. She crinkled her face up, like she was embarrassed. 'Well,' she said. 'I was lying here last night, tossing and turning. Kept getting up to look at her. Kept dropping off to sleep. And the strangest of dreams …' 'And … ?' said Dad. 'And I saw this man, that's all. Another dream, though

that were very familiar. He saw his father.

George?" said Puller. "Oh, I'm sorry. You probably just knew him as Father Rooney. His first name is George.

After a few moments of silence Puller said, "You think he was achieving all of it for his father? Because he never got the chance to do it himself?" Rooney pointed at him. "That's what I believe.