Sometimes Arthur talked about his childhood. As a boy he was delicate and had never been sent to school. An only son, he lived alone with his widowed mother, whom me adored. Together they studied literature and art; together they visted Paris, Baden-Baden, Rome, moving always in the best society, from Schloss to château, from château to palace, gentle, charming, appreciative; in a state of perpeutal tender anxiety about each other's health.

"You know," said Arthur, "it's at times like this, when I'm trapped in a Vogon airlock with a man from Betelgeuse, and about to die of asphyxiation in deep space that I really wish I'd listened to what my mother told me when I was young."
"Why, what did she tell you?"
"I don't know, I didn't listen."

My oldest son ... let me tell you, this kid is only sixteen years old, listen to what he did to me. This motherfucker calls me up in the middle of the night, it was one o'clock in the morning. He goes, "Dad, don't be mad." I knew something was terribly wrong. I said, "What's going on?" He said, "Listen, I'm fine. And don't forget, you told me to do this. I'm at a party, and my designated driver had too much to drink. Me and my friends need you to come pick us up." I said, "Jesus Christ, it's one o'clock in the morning, nigga. I am shitfaced." But then I figured, fuck, it's better me than some kid. I might as well roll the dice and go pick my nigga up. I said, "Alright, I'm coming to get you. Just give me the address and I'll be right there." And then he gave me the address, and I was - I was shocked. I said, "Son, you are not gonna believe this, but I'm at the same party, nigga."

Sometimes during the night, your father awakened. He rose from his bed, staggered across the room, and found the strength to raise the window sash. He called your mother's name with what little voice he had, and he called yours, too, and your brother, Joe. And he called for Mickey. At that moment, it seemed, his heart was spilling out, all the guilt and regret. Perhaps he felt the light of death approaching. Perhaps he only knew you were all out there somewhere, in the streets beneath his window. He bent over the ledge. The night was chilly. The wind and damp, in his state, were too much. He was dead before dawn.

By the time a man realizes that his father was right, he has a son who thinks he’s wrong.

Arthur felt happy. He was terribly pleased that the day was for once working out so much according to plan. Only twenty minutes ago he had decided he would go mad, and now here he was already chasing a Chesterfield sofa across the fields of prehistoric Earth.

What was silent in the father speaks in the son, and often I found in the son the unveiled secret of the father.

"So this is it," said Arthur, "We are going to die."
"Yes," said Ford, "except... no! Wait a minute!" He suddenly lunged across the chamber at something behind Arthur's line of vision. "What's this switch?" he cried.
"What? Where?" cried Arthur, twisting round.
"No, I was only fooling," said Ford, "we are going to die after all."

On his deathbed he called my father to him and said, "Son, after I'm gone I want you to keep up the good fight. I never told you, but our life is a war and I have been a traitor all my born days, a spy in the enemy’s country ever since I give up my gun back in the Reconstruction. Live with your head in the lion’s mouth. I want you to overcome 'em with yeses, undermine 'em with grins, agree 'em to death and destruction, let 'em swoller you till they vomit or bust wide open." They thought the old man had gone out of his mind. He had been the meekest of men. The younger children were rushed from the room, the shades drawn and the flame of the lamp turned so low that it spouttered on the wick like the old man's breathing. "Learn it to the younsters," he whisdpered fiercely; then he died.

and his voice came from him in a whisper,

By the time a man realises that maybe his father was right, he usually has a son who thinks he is wrong.

"Am I correct in assuming that I address Lord Arthur?" "Yes, I'm Arthur." Emelena mumbled something that Arthur correctly thought was about expecting him to be taller, more impressive, have lightning bolts coming out of his eyes, and so on.

"How do you feel?" he asked him.
"Like a military academy," said Arthur. "Bits of me keep on passing out."

By the time a man realizes that maybe his father was right, he usually has a son who thinks he's wrong. life-quotes.co