Best 67 quotes in «fathers and sons quotes» category

There are many things for which I owe gratitude to my dad. Most of all, I am grateful to the only man who could love my mother more than me.

They both looked at me in a way that was fast becoming familiar: two parts bafflement to one part awe at my talent for making a bad situation worse.

There is no stronger brotherhood than between two boys who discover that both were born to fathers who waged war on their sons.

They won’t turn away a father who has come to find his son.

This book is about our lives and legacy as men connected through blood and– should nature have its way– the ultimate choice we as sons face to preserve our father’s legacy or to torch it to build something new.

Thoughts, pictures of him would come to me just a second after waking, shocking me from the forgetfulness of sleep, striking blows that were almost physical. And even in sleep I was not completely free. So often sleep brought dreams of him.

This room is crowded, haunted by the stale breath of the living. Until now, I have been able to imagine him dead, gloriously rotting in soil, on his way to Hell, perhaps, or stuck in the mire of nothingness that catches wandering spirits. In that image I have found small degrees of warmth, a tangible explanation for not knowing my father. I look at the picture and enlarge it with my mind. It is impossible to sleep knowing the chance exists that I might still meet him. I feel the planet spinning under me, like a whirlpool, the surface shrinking so that everything must eventually touch. I resist until it shatters.

We all have someone in our lives that has disappointed us a time or two, someone that no matter what they do you still try to love them through it" I just stare down at our joint hands. "The boys' dad, our son Benjamin he…" she squeezes my hand "he loves the boys in his own way" I look up into her face, but she's looking past me at Ry and Jase. "It was hard to watch those two grow up without either of their parents around for them and we tried to make up for it. To be what they needed, but every time we taught them new things or helped them with their homework or even attended their sporting events; every single time I saw the boys faces fall in disappointment. I felt that I felt disappointed towards my Benjamin." I tighten my grip on her hand, knowing it must not be easy to admit out loud. "We all have a weak spot; their dad was ours. Until he wasn't until he couldn't be anymore.

We are born with our father's names. We are not responsible for their failures. We are responsible for what they made us believe in. That is our only obligation. And it is even then a choice which we may sometimes be wise to ignore.

We have a dilemma, then,” Finnikin said fiercely. “Because I prayed that you would grow old and hold my children in your arms as you held me. My prayers have not been answered yet, Trevanion. So whose prayer is more worthy? Yours or mine?

All the men in Daddy's records sang of love with drastically imbalanced emotion. In the span of three minutes, they begged for it and kicked it to the curb. They turned to anybody, even to God, with a perpetual request: Please send me someone to love. But once they got it, love scrambled them.

When she asked what my father taught me, I told her I couldn't put it into words. But then I lay awake watching the snow fall outside and came up with this: how brave a thing it was for him to try to rediscover something, even if it was only himself, not a continent.

Why did you do it? Give up everything to raise another man's son?' His father did look up at that. 'I didn't raise another man's son,' he said sharply. 'I raised my own.

You may not want to be my son, but I cannot help but be your father.

We aren't always kind to one another, but want to be, and I believe that is the same thing.

As I liked him less and less I became more and more like him. I felt trapped, didn't care for myself.

Boys do not long for fathers who will usher them through the gauntlet of psychological disconnect. They long for fathers who have themselves survived intact. Boys do not ache for their father's masculinity. They ache for their fathers' hearts.

And though I had misgiving--obvious ones, too--one overwhelming thing drove me on: on the borderlands, my father would need me as much as I'd need him. That's what made me so blindly ready to go off with him. What boy doesn't wait his whole childhood to walk alongside his father on equal terms?

Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid; one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory. Build me a son whose wishbone will not be where his backbone should be; a son who will know Thee and that to know himself is the foundation stone of knowledge. Lead him, I pray, not in the path of ease and comfort, but under the stress and spur of difficulties and challenge. Here let him learn to stand up in the storm; here let him learn compassion for those who fail. Build me a son whose heart will be clean, whose goal will be high; a son who will master himself before he seeks to master other men; one who will learn to laugh, yet never forget how to weep; one who will reach into the future, yet never forget the past. And after all these things are his, add, I pray, enough of a sense of humor, so that he may always be serious, yet never take himself too seriously. Give him humility, so that he may always remember the simplicity of greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, the meekness of true strength. Then I, his father, will dare to whisper, "I have not lived in vain.

But Benny was already walking through the doors and into the bright sunny day, pulling the bottle from his shirt and thrusting it at his father: terrified, astonished, ready for his love.

But in so many ways I'm still that kid, not sure exactly how to be emotionally intimate with a girl without feeling weak, not sure my work is good enough, not sure if the people who are clapping would really like me if they got to know me (page 2)

But with all this said, wine was given to gladden the heart of man (Ps. 104:15), and one of the duties a father has is that of teaching his son to drink.

And William says, "I lost one son utterly."... ..."So I've held my tongue. But the truth is you didn't go to war. You went through the motions. But you turned it into graduate school. You contrived a comfortable place on the edge of the action to go study. You didn't even let the army decide your fate. You wangled your safe little job with a pre-enlistment deal and avoided the real thing. You told all the others who manned up, 'Better you do the dirty work, not me. Better your blood than mine.

Dad's like Superman with this muscles though Superman doesn't have a West Ham tattoo on his arm and Dad doesn't wear a suit and cape.

Dad got furious when we lied to him. No, Dad got furious then we lied to him.

Fatherhood is sacred.

Ever boy deserves a father.

Help your father As he ages And loses his strength For it was he who sheltered you And protected you from the storms KhoiSan Book of Wisdom

He never had time to look at the stars and fulfill his dreams, as he was too busy in fulfilling mine my hero my father

Every child grows up thinking their father is a hero or villain until they are old enough to realize that he is just a man

He wanted to argue like this forever. This was better than nothing. There was no exhausting his anger at his father, and every word, however well intentioned or intentionally barbed, was a pull at a scab on his bloody heart. It was too late for any of this. There could ultimately be no healing. Marty had terminal cancer, and so did the two men have a cancer between them. They were terminal together, as father and son. They remained, momentarily exhausted, but it was really only that quiet between lightning and thunder as sound lags behind speed. The lightning had cracked the ground already, you just hadn't heard it yet.

He was all iron outside, but all father within.

He wishes he could remember everything. Anything. He doesn’t sense a bone in his body that can feel compassion or worthiness. Self-pity hides away as well, the lowest form of emotion not even capable of resting in his wrecked mind.

Cesar knew better. He did. And love. Love just makes a man weak. A woman, a child—doesn’t matter what face the love has, love makes you stupid, it takes you out of your character, twists you, folds you, it drags you out into deep waters and drowns you. Love has you thinking about all the things you buried. All the things you left behind. It has you thinking about your mother, who was a nurse once, wearing scrubs and coming home late, before all the fighting, before the vodka, before the heroin, before Cesar found her in the bathtub sleeping in her own blood. Love has you crying on the couch while you’re feeding your baby. Not even a month old and you’re leaving him. Not because you want to, but because of love. Because you love him and you know he’s better off with somebody else. Because it’s the right thing to do. But righteousness doesn’t take the edge of the sting. Because it hurts. Because he’s looking up at you. His eyes wide in awe like you’re God herself. Your son cannot understand a word that you’re saying. He doesn’t understand that you’re saying goodbye.

He spoke slowly, his voice deeper and louder, every word tacked nine-inches deep into the beams of our minds.

Hmm. Relationships between fathers and sons can be notoriously difficult, especially for two men who are as different as you and your father are." "Yes, and he's also the king--that makes our relationship impossible.

I can show him how to be the right kind of stupid.

I am a proud father in the fulfillment I feel when I provide guidance to my son. We have tremendous sharing together, which I now share in words with you today, with only a humble choice of adjectives to truly describe the emotions I feel arising from my relationship with my son. I imagine each of us has relationships of which we can be proud.

If one could speak two languages well and was raised on tea and baguettes for breakfast,in places where the most mundane daily business on the street is conducted in four languages, where horse carts park at cyber cafes, where would one go? Where could one go? Why,with a smile and a handshake, very far, indeed!

If not for sports, I do not think my father would have ever talked to me.

If you can walk with the crowd and keep your virtue, or walk with Kings-nor lose the common touch; If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute with 60 seconds worth of distance run- Yours is the earth and everything that's in it, And-which is more-you'll be a man my son.

I know you're no worse than most men but I thought you were better. I never saw you as a man. I saw you as my father.

Il le constata avec la compassion des fils que la vie a transformé peu à peu en pères de leur père, et pour la première fois il souffrit de ne pas avoir accompagné le sien dans la solitude de ses erreurs.

I am the father of three sons, Cameron, Jordan and Tristan. Each is as unique, as are the stars in the sky. Each is his own imposable planet, filled with creative brilliance, blessed with boundless intelligence and imbued with the kind of strength of character, born of an ancient warrior ethos.

I bring this up because in writing some thoughts about a father, or not having a father, I feel as though I'm writing a book about a troll under a bridge or a dragon. For me, a father was nothing more than a character in a fairy tale. I know fathers are not like dragons because fathers actually exist. I have seen them on television and sliding their arms around their wives in grocery stores, and I have seen them in the malls and in the coffee shops, but these were characters in other people's stories. The sad thing is, as a kid, I wondered why I couldn't have a dragon, but I never wondered why I didn't have a father. (page 20)

If a son has a peaceful relationship with his father, if neither of them ever shows contempt for the other, then either the father is a fool, or the son is.

I spent half my childhood trying to be like my dad. True for most boys, I think. It turns with adolescence. The last thing I wanted was to be like my dad. It took becoming a man to realize how lucky I’d been. It took a few hard knocks in life to make me realize the only thing my dad had ever wanted or worked for was to give me a chance at being better than him.

I read the first chapter of A Brief History of Time when Dad was still alive, and I got incredibly heavy boots about how relatively insignificant life is, and how compared to the universe and compared to time, it didn't even matter if I existed at all. When Dad was tucking me in that night and we were talking about the book, I asked if he could think of a solution to that problem. "Which problem?" "The problem of how relatively insignificant we are." He said, "Well, what would happen if a plane dropped you in the middle of the Sahara Desert and you picked up a single grain of sand with tweezers and moved it one millimeter?" I said, "I'd probably die of dehydration." He said, "I just mean right then, when you moved that single grain of sand. What would that mean?" I said, "I dunno, what?" He said, "Think about it." I thought about it. "I guess I would have moved one grain of sand." "Which would mean?" "Which would mean I moved a grain of sand?" "Which would mean you changed the Sahara." "So?" "So? So the Sahara is a vast desert. And it has existed for millions of years. And you changed it!" "That's true!" I said, sitting up. "I changed the Sahara!" "Which means?" he said. "What? Tell me." "Well I'm not talking about painting the Mona Lisa or curing cancer. I'm just talking about moving that one grain of sand one millimeter." "Yeah? If you hadn't done it, human history would have been one way..." "Uh-huh?" "But you did do it, so...?" I stood on the bed, pointing one of my fingers at the fake stars, and screamed: "I changed the course of human history!" "That's right." "I changed the universe!" "You did." "I'm God!" "You're an atheist." "I don't exist!" I fell back onto the bed, into his arms, and we cracked up together.

I've internalized my father- his impatience, his perfectionism, his rage. I no longer need my father to torture me. From this day on, I can do it all by myself.

I must be old, Pyotr thought to himself, if my son is being kind to me.