My Father Died Quotes

At some level it’s still hard for me to admit that my father died. I can talk about it and around it, but those two words. ‘He died.’ What can that possibly mean? That I won’t get to hear his voice again?

I did not begin to talk about peace when my father died nor did I begin to criticize him at that point – I did this when I had him in front of me, I was one of his harshest criticizers and I never applauded his violence.

Of course, losing my father was traumatic. I was an only child. But from the time my father died, my general theme in life has been to turn adversity into opportunity.

When my mother died, and when my father died, it’s big. Our parents are giants; they’re titans of our lives, so of course it’s going to be a big deal.

At home we didnt talk about religion. So gradually the question faded away by itself and disappeared from the agenda. When I was nineteen my father died; my response to his death was atheistic.

I was raised in the Baptist church… but I didn’t really have a real committed experience with Christ until my father died.

My father died many years ago, and yet when something special happens to me, I talk to him secretly not really knowing whether he hears, but it makes me feel better to half believe it.

My father died in 1930, but if you told him or anybody almost in that time that you’d be able to sit back in England and watch a cricket game in Australia, they’d have you put in the loony bin.

It doesn’t matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was.

The importance of heart health became very real for me when my father died of heart disease seven years ago. Having experienced the loss first hand, I am inspired to do everything I can to break the cycle and prevent families from losing loved ones to this preventable disease.

My father died when I was two years old. But my mother was quite capable. She raised three children with his war pension which was peanuts. Yet we did not want for anything. We grew up with a certain parsimony, which is a nice thing. Then if life gives you more good, otherwise you get used to. I’m still thrifty.

When he died, I went about like a ragged crow telling strangers, “My father died, my father died.” My indiscretion embarrassed me, but I could not help it. Without my father on his Delhi rooftop, why was I here? Without him there, why should I go back? Without that ache between us, what was I made of?

My father died early. My mother died early. I started hanging with the gangs. I’m on the streets; I’m committing crimes. And the music came along, and this music just took me on a different road.

I barely saw my mother, and the mom I saw was often angry and unhappy. The mother I grew up with is not the mother I know now. It’s not the mother she became after my father died, and that’s been the greatest prize of my life.

When my father died, it sounds kind of simple but I just had the desire to step up and pastor the church. It was what I was supposed to do. I just took that step of faith.

A father carries pictures where his money used to be.

My father died and left me his blessing and his business. His blessing brought no money into my pocket, and as to his business, it soon deserted me, for I was busy writing poetry, and could not attend to law, and my clients, though they had great respect for my talents, had no faith in a poetical attorney.