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!)
Never raise your hand to your kids. It leaves your groin unprotected. ~Red Buttons
A diplomat is a man who always remembers a woman's birthday but never remembers her age. ~Robert Frost
They say that age is all in your mind. The trick is keeping it from creeping down into your body. ~Author Unknown
We advance in years somewhat in the manner of an invading army in a barren land; the age that we have reached, as the saying goes, we but hold with an outpost, and still keep open communications with the extreme rear and first beginnings of the march. ~Robert Louis Stevenson, "Virginibus Puerisque II," Virginibus Puerisque, 1881
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
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
There is still no cure for the common birthday. ~John Glenn
They say that age is all in your mind. The trick is keeping it from creeping down into your body. ~Author Unknown
A birthday is just the first day of another 365-day journey around the sun. Enjoy the trip. ~Author Unknown
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
One father is more than a hundred Schoolemasters. ~George Herbert, Outlandish Proverbs, 1640
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
No comments:
Post a Comment