Father Quotes
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To declare in St John's words that Jesus and the Father are one is to claim that Jesus's dependence on the Other is not self-estrangement but self-ful lment. At the core of his identity ..lies nothing but unconditional love.
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When I was ten years old, my family left a cold, damp prefab in West Fife and moved to Corby, Northamptonshire, where my father quickly found work at what was then the Stewarts & Lloyds steelworks.
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I was always falling in and out of love. I was engaged when I was 16 to the first guy I ever dated, but my father told him I was too young.
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Orthodox Jews often ask you: "Are you an Israeli first, or a Jew?" I see no difference between the two. After all, I'm also simultaneously the son of my parents, the husband of my wife and the father of my children.
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There was a strong focus on performance and respect for people. And one of the points that my father always made was that with all the challenges and obstacles and barriers, the one thing you can control is your performance. And that is one thing I have tried to adhere to throughout my career.
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My father loved me so much that he did not want me to be a laborer or anything. I don't know if it's the right thing to do - push your kids into something and then stay on them until they do it. Let them pick what they want to do.
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I grew up in a really bad situation; my father left when I was young - you know, an abusive situation. So the minute I put my fingers on a guitar and closed my eyes and just played, it literally was like a drug. It took me into a totally different world, and I just pulled from emotions and experiences that I was going through.
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My mother is very good in Scrabble. In Boggle, my father is probably better.
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When I got back to my father and mother and was sitting up there in our tepee, my face was still all puffed and my legs and arms were badly swollen; but I felt good all over and wanted to get right up and run around.
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She thought in would be awkward for both to be brought into conscious collision; and fancied that, from her being on a low seat at first, and now standing behind her father, he had overlooked her in his haste. As if he did not feel the consciousness of her presence all over, though his eyes had never rested on her!
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How is a boy’s mind to expand if he does not ask questions, and who should be so well able to answer his questions as his father?
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I'm an exile. My father had the courage to leave with his wife, his mother and three children under twelve. It took more courage to leave, to sacrifice everything for freedom, than to stay.
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I think by my father owning a store, I was definitely aware of the commercial aspect of selling clothes. His shop was a place I enjoyed spending time in as a boy, so I learned things almost by osmosis at times, by literally just being around all the action and not really despite myself.
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My father was Catholic, my mom Baptist, so we were raised Baptist but had a lot of Catholic upbringing: fish on Fridays, no birth control.
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I wanted to take up music, so my father bought me a blunt instrument. He told me to knock myself out.
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My father was frightened of his mother; I was frightened of my father, and I am damned well going to see to it that my children are frightened of me.
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Thanksgiving Day is a day devoted by persons with inflammatory rheumatism to thanking a loving Father that it is not hydrophobia.
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I was raised by my father; I was daddy's girl.
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My parents were early converts to Christianity in my part of Nigeria. They were not just converts; my father was an evangelist, a religious teacher. He and my mother traveled for thirty-five years to different parts of Igboland, spreading the gospel.
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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.
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We lived in Colorado, and my parents were outdoorsy mountain people. My father would always say, 'Go out and don't come back until you have something to show me.' Which meant he wanted me to come back with a scraped knee or an injury. When I went out to play, I felt like I'd better get hurt.
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Obviously, at this age, I've lost people in my life. But with a parent, it's just different. I was very attached to my father and had this naive little-girl notion that he'd always be around. So I'm finding acceptance of my father's death is the hardest thing to accept.
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It wasn't a typical 'Let's go play catch in the backyard' sort of father-son relationship. We always went to job sites with him.
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My father is Cuban. Spanish was my first language, but I don't speak it that much anymore because I had dyslexia, and in school they work with you only in English. But I'm proud to be Latina, and most people don't know I am.
