Jennifer Grant Quotes
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He'd forgiven who he needed to forgive, let go of what he needed to, and accepted himself as he was. Archibald Alexander Leach, Cary Grant, and all.
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I don't think I've ever seen him in a movie theater! I've only seen him on TV. Wow, that's so silly of me! We only saw one of his films together, it was with a group of people, and when he kissed Deborah Kerr, I jumped off the couch and I ran up and I slapped the screen. I was so upset that my father was kissing this woman I didn't even know!
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My son Cary's generation likely won't know who my father was, but it's something nice for him that his grandfather was an icon. I had one chance to pass along that name.
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It's better to walk alone, than with a crowd going in the wrong direction.
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Few men in their 70s looked as good as my father did. What was his secret? Genes, maybe, since he didn't exercise or diet, and he kept a candy drawer, drank a pot of black coffee every day, and read in the middle of the night. Still, he took such joy in being a dad - and in life in general - and his happiness showed.
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Dad was synonymous with his charm and wit and grace, and it was sort of the perfect way to go for him.
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I remember him reading 'Sleeping Beauty,' and he would play the score by Tchaikovsky as he read it. We'd also read 'Winnie the Pooh,' and, you know, those probably that he most often read me were 'Beatrix Potter' books, 'The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck' and 'The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle.' I still have at least 15 of them.
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I'm sure there was some part of his soul was intrinsically happy, but he probably had to go through some permutations to really get that to blossom. I'm sure Dad had his challenges, but I think that joy was there from the beginning and he had to find a way to make his life support that and express that.
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It's something he used to say when he was happy. It could be a very, very simple day. We might be sitting out on the front lawn. Dad loved classical music and we might be listening to some Stravinsky or something and having some tea and eggs. And he'd say, 'Oh, good stuff, isn't it?'
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I am my father's only child. The world knows a two-dimensional Cary Grant. As charming a star and as remarkable a gentleman as he was, he was still a more thoughtful and loving father.
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When it comes to Father's Day, I will remember my dad for both being there to nurture me and also for the times he gave me on my own to cultivate my own interests and to nurture my own spirit.
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Shoot for the moon. If you miss, shoot again.
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The best word to describe my father? Thoughtful. There was a tender quality to Dad that his sense of fun could sometimes mask. But, above all, he was sensitive and looked out for those he loved.
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The process was remarkably cathartic. I'd sit and listen to my father's voice - having not heard some of these tapes for 30 years and hearing his voice laying me down for a nap, our giggles and cooking dinner - and I remembered all those wonderful days. Normal days.
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Simple. Pared down. Timeless. The ties were never too thick or too thin; the pants were never too flared or too skinny. In my life with Dad, he wore Western apparel because we went riding - jeans, cowboy boots, the turquoise belt buckle. But it was all very simple, and that classic look is very 'Ralph Lauren.'
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The grief of losing my father has come in waves over the years, as it does with most people. His love and devotion as a father provided my closest, most intimate relationship. Dad, and our time together, is in my bones. While reflecting on him, the memories themselves seem to boil down into certain 'essences of Dad.'
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Most men are far younger when they have their children and they're building their careers. If they are older they probably don't have the luxury of retiring - and generally sixty something-year-old men don't choose to have a child and spend all their time with that child. So it was a very unique situation.
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When I knew I was pregnant four years ago with a boy, a friend suggested I call him Cary, but I initially resisted. There was only one Cary Grant. But a week before he was due, I started thinking it would be wonderful to pass the name on to him. And anyway, my father wasn't Cary to me. He was Dad.
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At some level it's still hard for me to admit that my father died. I can talk about it and around it, but those two words. 'He died.' What can that possibly mean? That I won't get to hear his voice again?
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It's not what your parents give you. It's what you do with your own stuff.
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Dad has, and had, a deservedly glowing reputation. However, this belief in 'reputation first' seems to have given rise to his fears of what might be rumored after his death.
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I remember going on carriage rides with Dad when we'd visit. I think quiet L.A. suited him better, but he loved to see shows here, he loved to visit his friends in the Hamptons.
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One of the myths about Dad was that he was mean. That simply wasn't true. I always found him generous to a fault but he wasn't reckless with his money, which was rather rare in Hollywood. He'd grown up with nothing and he wasn't about to fritter it all away.
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Can't blame men for wanting him. And wouldn't be surprised if Dad even mildly flirted back. Dad somewhat enjoyed being called gay. He said it made women want to prove the assertion wrong.