..my father was the best man in the world and probably worth a hundred of me, but he didn't understand me. The town he lived in and the town I lived in were not the same.

A father’s traditional role prepared him to love his family by being away from the love of his family.

I come from the kind of house where if my father saw me with a book in my hand he'd say, "Can you not find something better to do?"

I am convinced, Yorick, continued my father, half reading and half discoursing, that there is a Northwest Passage to the intellectual world; and that the soul of man has shorter ways of going to work, in furnishing itself with knowledge and instruction, than we generally take with it.

So nothing is as sweet as a man's own country,
his own parents, even though he's settled down
in some luxurious house, off in a foreign land
and far from those who bore him.

I was blessed to grow up on Virginia’s Eastern Shore, and to call it my home. As a kid I spent hours behind our house, crabbing and fishing on the Chesapeake Bay. To this day that is where I find peace. When I was just old enough to take to the water myself, my dad helped me build a rowboat and launch it, with strict instructions: stay close to home. As I grew and became more comfortable, I began to take longer trips away from the shore, until I was ready to head out into the open water. I remember standing with my father as I prepared to embark, and like all good Dads, he knew I was nervous even before I did. He said, Ralph, remember—when you get out there, you can always trust your compass. If things get dark or foggy, if you can’t find your way—keep your eye on the compass. It’ll always bring you home safely. He was right about that compass.

...I did not feel as if I was estranged from the region in any way, shape or form. But I was aware that my parents, and especially my father, were disappointed that I was not serving the region more directly. He wanted me to be closer to the family and to try to do something more directly in the region.

Because I would rather be with my grandfather on Alp than anywhere on earth.

I later asked my father why he chose to migrate with me of all his children and he told me he had seen that I was strong and would grow up to be even stronger

where a man feels at home, outside of where he’s born, is where he’s meant to go.

My parents came originally from the remote countryside. But for 10 years my father drove a truck in France and sent money home to our family.

But whither should he run? He could not run so far away that his father could not find him — his father's arm stretched to everywhere in the world.

Though [Abraham Lincoln] never would travel to Europe, he went with Shakespeare’s kings to Merry England; he went with Lord Byron poetry to Spain and Portugal. Literature allowed him to transcend his surroundings.

But there was in my father's mind another sentiment, less creditable to him, than the wish to give me the best education to be had. I mean those social aspirations which he continued to nourish, though by his removal to the remote situation of Hauxwell, and consequent detachment from the Castle, he was no longer able to gratify them. He had the instinct of good society, and liked to live with gentlemen, and to know what was going on in the upper world. His acquaintance with the peerage was accurate; he must have read Debrett at that time more than the Bible. Hence, in estimating colleges he was led to take the footman's view, and to prefer one which was frequented by the sons of gentlemen.