Fatherhood has nothing to do with the performance of some enthusiastic spermatozoa during a briefly pleasurable moment. It’s about this: Who has ultimate authority over your life? The question permits just one answer.
Dad, I know this comes too late but I’ll ask it anyway: Would it matter if I said, “I love you”?
You never smiled. You never cried. You were doing the best you could. Like I am.
Do not raise your sons to be your sons. They’re vaster than that.
Father, son, mother, daughter. These are roles, not souls. They are briefly played and impermanent. The impulse to fashion an identity from a role creates many problems.
An emotional man—fearful, worried, greedy, anxious, ambitious, jealous, competitive, angry, insecure—cannot love.
It is beneath the dignity of a man to bear a grudge against his father. Fathers do the best they can. Of course, in many cases, that’s not much.
Love is the only real intelligence. Sometimes love rings the bell, summons the mind.