Rise early. Write. Disappoint your sons. Read the newspaper. Go to bed early. Success.
Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too.
On Good Friday Jesus died But rose again at Eastertide.....Lord, teach us to understand that your Son died to save us not from suffering but from ourselves, not from injustice...but from being unjust. He died that we might live - but live as he lives, by dying as he died who died to himself.
Christian mothers, if only you knew the future of distress and peril, of shame ill-restrained, that you prepare for your sons and daughters in imprudently accustoming them to live hardly clothed and in making them lose the sense of modesty, you should be ashamed of yourselves and of the harm done the little ones whom heaven entrusted to your care, to be reared in Christian dignity and culture.
There are few things in this world more satisfying than having your son teach you how to play tennis, unless it is having a semi-truck run over your foot.
They're selling razor blades and mirrors in the street Pray that when I'm coming down you'll be alseep If I ever hurt you your revenge will be so sweet Because I'm scum And I'm your son I come undone
May the Lord ordain that your son becomes a man, and never a coward!
You have given us something more than money, you have given us a lot of your sons, your children that were killed beside our own children in Iraq. Iraqi people are insistent on going along the path for their economy and their security, but we do need the help of other countries who will help us, to stand beside us.
I don't think radio has to be sectioned off where you listen to the music for your generation and your son listens to the music for his generation.
Come all you mad and raging fearless friends of war and peace, Come all you sad self-righteous frightened friends down on your bended knees, All beings on this earth, you must not harm them; All weapons you hold deep within your heart, you must disarm them. Every man you meet's your son. Every woman is your daughter. Go find someeone who's thirsty, And give them water.
In my senior year of high school, I was working at a dealership washing cars. For some reason, I asked them to give me a shot as a salesman for a shift. What happened was I sold two cars in one day and they offered me the position. After a while I decided I didn't want the job and so I told the manager I'd contracted HIV from having unprotected sex. It was only half true but I'd been feeling sick and somehow convinced myself I was really dying. I remember I sat in my boss' office, the both of us crying. Later than night he calls my dad and says 'I'm sorry your son has HIV.' It was terrible.
When every piece of furniture and your underwear are taken by the bank, when you lose your house in Florida, in New York, in Amsterdam and L.A., when your wife is dying and your son abandons you, you don't feel very good.
I'm trying to cause people to be interested in the particulars of their lives because I think that's one thing literature can do for us. It can say to us: pay attention. Pay closer attention. Pay stricter attention to what you say to your son.
After all you grow by experience. But while your son is young, you should try to set before him his ultimate goal.
If you can keep your son off the pipe and your daughter off the pole, you're ahead of the game.
I grew up in an era when strange adults would grab me on the street and say: 'Don't do that.' You never see that these days. 'Hi, we took the liberty of spanking your son.' Oh thanks, my hand was getting worn.
Don't be a pal to your son. Be his father. What child needs a 40-year-old for a friend?
You can't understand it until you experience the simple joy of the first time your son points at a seagull and says 'Duck!'
My parents had a sidewalk cafe: every Sunday there was an accordion player and apparently I went through the motions, squeezing a shoebox. One of the regulars in 'the cafe said to my father: "I think you should get your son an accordion-that's what he's trying to do, with that shoebox." So they got me a little cardboard diatonic accordion-I still have it. I started to play the National Anthem, and things like that. It seems I was musically gifted-but my parents just never pushed in that direction.
One day I was in the studio with my cousin. My dad was on tour at the time, so just for fun I recorded some stuff with my cousin. We were just playing around. After my dad got back, one day he played what we recorded. He heard my part and was like, "Who is that?" My cousin was like, "Uh, that's your son!" So he was like, "That's hot. You wanna make a record?"
A single action can cause a life to veer off in a direction it was never meant to go. Falling in love can do that, you think. And so can a wild party. You marvel at the way each has the power to forever alter an individual's compass. And it is the knowing that such a thing can so easily happen, as you did not know before, not really, that has fundamentally changed you and your son.
Heroes who shed their blood and lost their lives! You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours. You, the mothers, who sent their sons from far away countries wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.
Many a bad habit is developed through overindulgence, and many a good one by chastisement; therefore, beat your son as well as your pupil; never indulge them.
In the event you bungle elevating your sons or daughters, I do not imagine regardless of what else you are doing nicely issues very considerably.
Walk through Santa Monica and try to find somebody who knows a young man or woman who's in this war. Here, war is an intellectual concept. If you lose your son or daughter, it's no longer an intellectual matter.
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