When I was a boy I used to do what my father wanted. Now I have to do what my boy wants. My problem is: When am I going to do what I want?
Fathers don’t curse, they disinherit. Mothers curse.
One father is more than a hundred schoolmasters.
To a hoarding father succeeds an extravagant son.
When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.
It no longer bothers me that I may be constantly searching for father figures; by this time, I have found several and dearly enjoyed knowing them all.
Fathers should be neither seen nor heard. That is the only proper basis for family life.
My father never raised his hand to any one of his children, except in self-defense.
Could you possibly whistle to your father and put him back on his lead, please?
If the relationship of father to son could really be reduced to biology, the whole earth would blaze with the glory of fathers and sons.
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