Quotes About Father

I love my dad, although I'm definitely critical of him sometimes, like when his pants are too tight. But I love him so much and I try to be really supportive of him.

I buried my father in my heart. Now he grows in me, my strange son, my little root who won't drink milk, little pale foot sunk in unheard-of night, little clock spring newly wet in the fire, little grape, parent to the future wine, a son the fruit of his own son, little father I ransom with my life

Hair spills through my dreams, sprouts from my stomach, thickens my heart, and tangles the brain. Hair ties the tongue dumb. Hair ascends the tree. of my childhood -- the willow I climbed one bare foot and hand at a time, feeling the knuckles of the gnarled tree, hearing my father plead from his window, Don't fall!

God-My-Father says from those three words he gave me, all other words descend, branching. That still leaves me unfit for conversation, like some deranged bird you can't tell is crying in grief or exultation, all day long repeating, 'O my God. O my love. Holy, holy, holy.' 'Three Words

It is an emotional rather than logical equation, an earthly rather than heavenly one, which posits that a boy's supplications and a father's love add up to silence

The earth is flat. Those who fall off don't return. The earth is round. All things reveal themselves to men only gradually. I won't last. Memory is sweet. Even when it's painful, memory is sweet. Once, I was cold. So my father took off his blue sweater.

I would have thought even you could understand such a simple sentence, Father. Shall I repeat it in Latin for you?

It was a gift," Angelo said. "From a friend." "A friend does not give a gun as a gift." Angelo walked into the room and sat down next to his father. "This one does," he said. "And what will you do with such a gift?" "It will remind me," Angelo said in a near whisper. "Of what?" Paolino's eyes searched the boy's face. "Of what I am without it, Papa.

in the clubs at night. He's in a prison. Trapped. In an increasingly dull marriage. Living in a place called "Rose Cottage." A baby on the way. The shattering responsibility of somehow becoming a father. How is he supposed to do that? His own dad never figured it out.

I thought about my father. I usually do, when I get that low. He was a good man, a generous man, a hopeless loser.

I tried to be what I was meant to be, Father. It was never personal.

Nice father figure. Him and Bill Cosby.

It takes a long time for a father to drive the love out of a child.

I have always collected my thoughts on Sunday, a habit enforced in my childhood when my father gave up on the church and turned to my own education with an energy that must be called unpleasant.

The Reading Promise: My Father and the Books We Shared

Say hello to my mother and father...the Earth and Space.

Always when I play back my father's voice," Maria says, "it is with a professional rasp, it goes as it lays, don't do it the hard way. My father advised me that life itself was a crap game: it was one of two lessons I learned as a child. The other was that overturning a rock was apt to reveal a rattlesnake. As lessons go those two seem to hold up, but not to apply.

You couldn't pay for her hats,' her father, a ship's captain, had told her suitors by way of discouragement, and perhaps they had all been discouraged but my grandfather, an innocent from the Georgetown Divide who read books.

In her half sleep the point was ten, the jackpot was on eighteen, the only man that could ever reach her was the son of a preacher man, someone was down sixty, someone was up, Daddy wants a popper and she rode a painted pony let the spinning wheel spin.

Thor looked at Maddy. What d'you mean, Father ? He had loosened his grip on Loki, who was now flattened against the cell wall as far from Jormungand as he could manage while Ellie, incensed at this latest invasion, lashed out at the serpent with her walking stick. Terrific, said Loki under his breath. Come to Netherworld. Meet the kids.

My chest feels full of glitter and helium, the way it used to when I was little and riding my father's shoulders at twilight, when I knew that if I held up my hands and spread my fingers like a net, I could catch the coming stars.

I always wondered why God was supposed to be a father, she whispers. Fathers always want you to measure up to something. Mothers are the ones who love you unconditionally, don't you think?

When I was little I bragged about my firefighting father: my father would go to heaven, because if he went to hell he would put out all the fires

From that point of view, I realized that my hole was not miles deep after all. My father, in fact, could stand on the bottom and it only reached up to his chest. Darkness, you know, is relative.