There's something like a line of gold thread running through a man's words when he talks to his daughter, and gradually over the years it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself. ~John Gregory Brown, Decorations in a Ruined Cemetery, 1994
Never raise your hand to your kids. It leaves your groin unprotected. ~Red Buttons
He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it. ~Clarence Budington Kelland
May you live to be a hundred yearsWith one extra year to repent.~Author Unknown
Birthdays are good for you. Statistics show that the people who have the most live the longest. ~Larry Lorenzoni
When I was younger, I could remember anything, whether it had happened or not; but my faculties are decaying now and soon I shall be so I cannot remember any but the things that never happened. It is sad to go to pieces like this but we all have to do it. ~Mark Twain
Because time itself is like a spiral, something special happens on your birthday each year: The same energy that God invested in you at birth is present once again. ~Menachem Mendel Schneerson
Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened. ~Jennifer Yane
Sherman made the terrible discovery that men make about their fathers sooner or later... that the man before him was not an aging father but a boy, a boy much like himself, a boy who grew up and had a child of his own and, as best he could, out of a sense of duty and, perhaps love, adopted a role called Being a Father so that his child would have something mythical and infinitely important: a Protector, who would keep a lid on all the chaotic and catastrophic possibilities of life. ~Tom Wolfe, The Bonfire of the Vanities
He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it. ~Clarence Budington Kelland
Our birthdays are feathers in the broad wing of time. ~Jean Paul Richter
Dad, your guiding hand on my shoulder will remain with me forever. ~Author Unknown
There's something like a line of gold thread running through a man's words when he talks to his daughter, and gradually over the years it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself. ~John Gregory Brown, Decorations in a Ruined Cemetery, 1994
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