When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.
Father Time is not always a hard parent and though he tarries for none of his children, often lays his hand lightly upon those who have used him well; making them old men and women inexorably enough, but leaving their hearts and spirits young and in full vigor. With such people the gray head is but the impression of the old fellow's hand in giving them his blessing, and every wrinkle but a notch in the quiet calendar of a well-spent life.
I'm a good dad; I spend a lot of time with my kids.
You can't stop father time... but you can show [him] down.
Each great athlete must some day bow to that perennial old champion, Father Time, even as I, for Time eventually wins.
Father Time is the make-up man responsible for the physical changes that determine the parts the average actor is to play.
And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to father time.
I try and spend a lot of time with my kids. I try and have fun with my kids. I try to put father time in there.
Every girl should use what Mother Nature gave her before Father Time takes it away.
It's like this. Father Time keeps pitching the years at us. We swing and miss at a few. We hit a few out of the park. We try not to take any called strikes.
You're going to feel good. But no matter how much you rehab you do, you can't speed up the healing process. I would rather see a guy come back in 14 months and pitch seven, eight or nine more years then come back in 10 months and get hurt again. You cannot mess with mother nature and father time. Nature will heal it if you give it time.
Come, come, leave business to idlers, and wisdom to fools: they have need of 'em: wit be my faculty, and pleasure my occupation, and let father Time shake his glass.
My father Time is weak and gray With waiting for a better day; See how idiot-like he stands, Fumbling with his palsied hands!
In our fathers' time nothing was read but books of feigned chivalry, wherein a man by reading should be led to none other end, but only to manslaughter and bawdry.
I want to go ahead of Father Time with a scythe of my own.
A wind blew, and the sand around his drawing scattered. He wrapped his fingers inside his wife's, and Father Time rekindled a connection he had only ever had with her. He surrendered to that sensation and felt the final drops of their lives touch one another, like water in a cave, top meets bottom, Heaven meets Earth. As their eyes closed, a different set of eyes opened, and they rose from the ground as a shared south, up and up, a sun and a moon in a single sky.
I'm going to go with ZZ Top -- they're my faves . . . because of the whole thing that they do with the guitars and the old Father Time beards.
Then, there's the modern mother-in-law. In her mid 40s, she is the compact car of her breed: efficient, trim, attractive and in harmony with her times. She's pretty stiff competition for the plain young matron who's overweight and under-financed. If there is going to be friction in this relationship, it could start from envy and resentment in the younger woman. But Father Time is on her side, even if Mother Nature played her a dirty trick
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