Dear Dad Quotes & Sayings

Dad himself used to tell a story about one time when Mother went off to fill a lecture engagement and left him in charge at home. When Mother returned, she asked him if everything had run smoothly.
Didn't have any trouble except with that one over there,' he replied. 'But a spanking brought him into line.'
Mother could handle any crisis without losing her composure.
That's not one of ours, dear,' she said. 'He belongs next door. — Frank B. Gilbreth Jr.

Well, of course it was Billy screwing with his mind. That's what Billy did. Dear Old Dad had a PhD in mind screwing. The question was, was it just Billy screwing with his mind? — Barry Lyga

It takes a heap o' children to make a home that's true,And home can be a palace grand, or just a plain, old shoe;But if it has a mother dear, and a good old dad or two,Why, that's the sort of good old home for good old me and you. — Louis Untermeyer

Don't tell me you aren't even a little glad to see me, Mother," Sebastian said, and
though his words were pleading, his voice was flat. "Aren't I everything you could want in
a son?" He spread his arms wide. "Strong, handsome, looks just like dear old Dad. — Cassandra Clare

Dear Tess, she read. This is probably a silly gift for a girl. I never did know the right thing to buy you. I was trying to think of something that would help when you're feeling lost. I remember feeling lost. It was bloody awful. But I always had you. Hope you find your way, Love Dad. — Liane Moriarty

I am involved with so many charitable organizations. Lung Cancer because of my dad, Breast Cancer because as a woman and mother of two daughters I have to be, Lupus for my sister, Crohn's disease for a dear friend, as well as Oceana and The Plastic Pollution Coalition because we have to be responsible to save the planet! — Lois Robbins

You're one to talk about talking crap, Forester." Dunstan's voice interrupts the memory, and I can't help but feel a little grateful. "Accusing my dad of poisoning the swamp? What a bunch of bull."
"It's not bull,"I snarl. "Your dad's dumping trash into the swamp and you know it!"
Dunstan finally loses it and stands up. The boat tilts dangerously. Melanie and the twins shriek, grasping the sides like they're glued to them.
"You two sit down this minute!" Babette bellows. She's holding onto the motor for dear life. Neither of us listens.
"You wanna run that by me again?" Dunstan growls. His fingers curl into fists.
"Your. Dad. Is. Poisoning. The. Swamp." I let each word out slowly like Dunstan's a dumb little kid who needs help understanding. — Colleen Boyd

Mom let out a wistful sigh. "Finally out of the spotlight and into
the background," she said. "I've missed it there."
"People will still watch, my dear," Dad said. "Just try to keep
your chin up tonight, and I'll be right beside you if you need me."
"So, same as always?"
He smiled. "Same as always."
"Look, I don't plan to kick you out or anything, but if you insist
on being mushy all the time, I'll have you in a cottage faster than
you can say P-D-A. — Kiera Cass

Dear Lord," began Randy, who paused for long enough that Tristan sneaked an eye open to look at him. His saw his mother's cheek twitch with what he thought might be apprehension. "We are so grateful to be gathered here today with our family, and the family of our brother's homosexual boyfriend, and our new little goth friend who has a gay dad, whatever the heck that is all about. We'd like to say we're grateful this year for condoms, lube, and Ellen Degeneres, and for those guys on Queer Eye ... "
Randall Evan Phillips!" his mother shouted. — Z.A. Maxfield

Dear Dad,
When you sent me to school that morning, I thought you loved me. But now I see you for what you are. You called me a monster and a freak. But you're the one that raised me. — Alexandra Bracken

He wrote so many letters that occasionally he would forget the name of the person he was writing to. "This is a letter to what's-his-name," he'd begin. "Jeane will know his name, ask Jeane." Jeane was our senate liaison and someone who knew nearly everyone. "Dear whoever," he would continue, "I just wanted to let you know how sorry I was to hear about your dad. I remember losing my dad when I was seventeen, and all I can say is it wasn't easy. Please know you'll be in our prayers over the coming weeks and months." I wondered if the governor would pray for somebody whose name he couldn't remember. Would he tell God to ask Jeane? — Barton Swaim

A central principle underlying Mrs Quinty's Rules for Writing is that you have to have a Beginning Middle and End. If you don't have these your Reader is lost. But what if Lost is exactly where the writer is? I asked her. Ruth, the writer can't be lost, she said, and then knew she'd said it too quickly and bit her lip knowing I was going to say something about Dad. She pressed her knees together and diverted into a fit of dry coughing. This, Dear Reader, is a river narrative. My chosen style is The Meander. I know that in The Brothers Karamazov (Book 1,777, Penguin Classics, London) Ippolit Kirillovich chose the historical form of narration because Dostoevsky says it checked his own exuberant rhetoric. Beginnings middles and ends force you into that place where you have to Stick to the Story as Maeve Mulvey said the night the Junior Certs were supposed to be going to the cinema in Ennis but were buying cans in Dunnes and drinking — Niall Williams

I think my dad was happy. I phrase it like this because he seldom showed much emotion. Hugs and kisses wwere a rarity for me growing up, and when they did happen, they often struck me as lifeless, something he did because he felt he was supposed to, not because he wanted to. — Nicholas Sparks

Dad and I did not care at all for your story in The New Yorker ... [I]t does seem, dear, that this gloomy kind of story is what all you young people think about these days. Why don't you write something to cheer people up? — Shirley Jackson

Or ... maybe I'm not going crazy. "Maybe I'm some sort of android-cyborg-clone-thing, and I'm just breaking down.
I'm not sure which way is worse.
Dad laughs. "You're not in your right mind, dear," he says. "No, no, no, you're not."
And then
- Silence.
Dad fades away. The reverie chair disappears.
There's just blackness. I remember then that I am in the reverie of something dead. Whatever that thing was, it was dead.
And, just as I'm starting to wonder if, perhaps, I have died, too, I see a light, far away in the corner of the dreamscape. The light isn't soft; it's not glowing. It crackles like silent lightning, burning with electricity, sparks flying out and fizzling in the dark.
I don't know why - it makes no sense, the way dreams often don't - but I want to touch the light.
So I do. — Beth Revis

Dear Mom and Dad, Leave $50,000 in a bag under the bridge on Decatur Street. If there is no bridge on Decatur Street, please build one. — Woody Allen

Acknowledgements!
My thanks to Hollywood
When you showed me John Rambo
Stitching up his arm with no anaesthetic
And giving them "a war they won't believe"
I knew then my calling, the job for me

Thanks also to the recruitment adverts
For showing me soldiers whizzing around on skis
And for sending sergeants to our school
To tell us of the laughs, the great food, the pay
The camaraderie

I am, dear taxpayer, forever in your debt
You paid for my all-inclusive pilgrimage
One year basking in the Garden of Eden
(I haven't quite left yet)

Thanks to Mum and thanks to Dad
Fuck it,
Thanks to every parent
Flushing with pride for their brave young lads
Buying young siblings toy guns and toy tanks
Waiting at the airport
Waving their flags — Danny Martin

Dear dad, you always told me that an honest man has nothing to fear, so I'm trying my best not to be afraid. — Frank Abagnale

You mean before Mab Monroe staked him out and barbecued him like a pork chop for all his friends to see," I replied. "And you too. Pity, dear old dad getting roasted like that right in front of you. — Jennifer Estep

Dear Dad: After twenty-two years in the amusement park, this roller coaster isn't fun any more, so I'm getting off the ride. Roger — Roger Kahn

Alexander laughs. They kiss exuberantly. "Now - much more seriously," she says, "what would you like to play, Captain? Marco Polo?" "How about Little Red Riding Tania?" he says, all teeth. "Okey-dokey." Making her voice high high high, she says gamely, batting her eyes, "Oh, Captain, what big arms you have ... " "All the better to hold you with, my dear." He squeezes her wet body to him. "Oh, Captain, what big hands you have ... " "All the better to grab you with, my dear." He grabs her behind and presses into her. "Oh, my, Captain! What a - " Anthony takes a running jump, right into the pool, right into his mother and father. Alexander pushes his son underwater and when he releases him, Tatiana pushes her son underwater, and when she releases him they both embrace him and kiss his face. "Ant, want to play Marco Polo?" "Yes, Dad," says Anthony. "You're it. And no chasing only Mommy this time. — Paullina Simons

Dear Hilde,
I assume you're still celebrating your 15th birthday. Or is it the morning after? Anyways, it makes no difference to your present. In a sense, that will last a life time. But I'd like to wish you happy birthday one more time. Perhaps you understand now why I send the cards to Sophie. I am sure she will pass them on to you.
P.S. Mom said you lost your wallet. I hereby promise to reimburse you the 150 crowns. You will probably be able to get another school I.D. before they close for the summer vacation.
Love from Dad. — Jostein Gaarder

A sweet thing, for whatever time, to revisit in dreams the dear dad we have lost. — Euripides

His gaze was impossibly kind as he said, Then, daughter dear, call me Dad. — Penny Reid

I am an anarch in space, a metahistorian in time. Hence I am committed to neither the political present nor tradition; I am blank and also open and potent in any direction.
Dear old Dad, in contrast, still pours his wine into the same decaying old wineskins, he still believes in a constitution when nothing and no one constitutes anything. — Ernst Junger

Bye, dear ol' Dad." He smiled. "Bye, my son, my son. — R.J. Palacio

Dear Mom and Dad,
I know you're only trying to do what's best for me, but I don't think anyone knows for sure what's best. I love you and don't want to be a problem, so I've decided to go away. I know you'll say I'm not a problem, but I know I am. If you want to know why I'm doing this, you should ask Dr. Luce, who is a big liar! I am not a girl. I'm a boy. That's what I found out today. So I'm going where no one knows me. Everyone in Grosse Pointe will talk when they find out.
Sorry I took your money, Dad, but I promise to pay you back someday, with interest.
Please don't worry about me. I will be ALL RIGHT!
Despite it's contents, I signed this declaration to my parents: "Callie."
It was the last time I was ever their daughter. — Jeffrey Eugenides

What is the connection between you and our handsome host? Aunt B asked.
Blackberries taste much worse when they try to come back up your throat. "Uhhh ... "
"Uhhh is not an answer," Keira informed me.
Andre must not have told her about Hugh, and I had no desire to explain who my dad was. "We never met but we were trained by the same person. Now he works for a very powerful man who will kill me if he finds me."
"Why?" Keira asked.
"It's a family thing."
"That explains the attraction," Aunt B said.
"Attraction?"
"You're that thing he can't have. It's called forbidden fruit."
"I'm not his fruit!"
"He thinks you are. The word you're looking for is "smitten," my dear." Aunt B smiled. "I'm sure the way Megobari looked at you made Curran positively giddy. — Ilona Andrews

is Whitney? Is that your dealer?" "Whitney Houston," Mom said. "You know, dear. She was that singer who sang that song you like that Helena performed." "'Hit Me Baby, One More Time?" "That's Britney, dear." "'Dirty?" "That was Christina." "Umbrella?" "And that was Rihanna. Larry, you're embarrassing yourself. You have a gay son, for God's sake. How can you not know your divas?" Mom sounded affronted. "Paul? Paul! If you can hear me, don't listen to your father! He obviously doesn't know his ass from his elbow!" "Language," Dad scolded. "And I know my divas. I know them very well. What about that Woman Goo-Goo that Helena performs like? — T.J. Klune

One bad thing can often be rectified or overlooked, but several of them can sometimes coalesce into a compound disaster that sprouts tentacles and develops a self-directed will of its own, the kind of thing my dear old dad used to call a cluster fudge bar. — Eleanor Druse

Brother dear," I said, "did your soul leave your body while Amos was talking, or did you actually hear him? Egyptian gods real. Red Lord bad. Red Lord's birthday: very soon, very bad. House of Life: fussy magicians who hate our family because dad was a bit of a rebel, whom you could take a lesson from. Which leaves us - just us - with Dad missing, an evil god about to destroy the world, and an uncle who just jumped off the building - and I can't actually blame him." I took a breath. [Yes, Carter, I do have to breathe occasionally.] — Rick Riordan

It turns out that I learned something from my dear old dad after all: firemen are experts at getting into places they shouldn't be. — Jodi Picoult

Umm, why is it that we don't have any of this in a book? So we could study?" There was a hint of irritation in her voice. Silvia shook her head. "Dear girls, history isn't something you study. It's something you should just know." Marlee turned to me and whispered, "But clearly we don't." She smiled at her own joke, and then focused again on Silvia. I thought about that, how we all knew different things or had to guess at the truth. Why weren't we given history books? I remembered a few years ago when I went into Mom and Dad's room, since Mom said I could choose what I wanted to read for English. As I went through my options, I spotted a thick, ratty book in the back corner and pulled it out. It was a U.S. history book. Dad came in a few minutes later, saw what I was reading, and said it was okay, so long as I never told anyone about it. When — Kiera Cass

It is a sad commentary of our times when our young must seek advice and counsel from 'Dear Abby' instead of going to Mom and Dad. — Pauline Phillips

I wondered how many rounds dear old dad was in before his body finally gave up. I wondered if it was the scotch I sent him that finally did him in. That would be a beautiful kind of karma. — Jessica Gadziala