Spread the diaper in the position of the diamond with you at bat. Then fold second base down to home and set the baby on the pitcher's mound. Put first base and third together, bring up home plate and pin the three together. Of course, in case of rain, you gotta call the game and start all over again. ~Jimmy Piersal, on how to diaper a baby, 1968
One father is more than a hundred Schoolemasters. ~George Herbert, Outlandish Proverbs, 1640
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
The secret of staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age. ~Lucille Ball
I'm sixty years of age. That's 16 Celsius. ~George Carlin, Brain Droppings, 1997
Dad, your guiding hand on my shoulder will remain with me forever. ~Author Unknown
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 he had learned in seven years. ~Author unknown, commonly attributed to Mark Twain but no evidence has yet been found for this (Thanks, Garson O'Toole!)
A father is always making his baby into a little woman. And when she is a woman he turns her back again. ~Enid Bagnold
You're not 40, you're eighteen with 22 years experience. ~Author Unknown
Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened. ~Jennifer Yane
I don't care how poor a man is; if he has family, he's rich. ~M*A*S*H, Colonel Potter
My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Mother would come out and say, "You're tearing up the grass." "We're not raising grass," Dad would reply. "We're raising boys." ~Harmon Killebrew
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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