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
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
They say that age is all in your mind. The trick is keeping it from creeping down into your body. ~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
Youth would be an ideal state if it came a little later in life. ~Herbert Asquith
He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it. ~Clarence Budington Kelland
I'm sixty years of age. That's 16 Celsius. ~George Carlin, Brain Droppings, 1997
I'm sixty years of age. That's 16 Celsius. ~George Carlin, Brain Droppings, 1997
First you forget names; then you forget faces; then you forget to zip up your fly; and then you forget to unzip your fly. ~Branch Rickey
Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness blow the rest away. ~Dinah Craik
Fatherhood is pretending the present you love most is soap-on-a-rope. ~Bill Cosby
Fatherhood is pretending the present you love most is soap-on-a-rope. ~Bill Cosby
Blessed indeed is the man who hears many gentle voices call him father! ~Lydia M. Child, Philothea: A Romance, 1836
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