Father's Absence Quotes

I became quietly seized with that nostalgia that overcomes you when you have reached the middle of your life and your father has recently died and it dawns on you that when he went he took some of you with him.

My dad leaving my life. That's the biggest thing that happened to me. I just remember what he tells me, the memories, and try to move on forward each day, knowing that he's still here, looking down on me.

My father was always in good spirits, he loved football. It makes me a bit sad because if he could enjoy seeing me now, what I have achieved, that would be a highlight in his life. But I'm sure that he watches over me from above.

I was 12 when my father passed, so I didn't have a father during my teenage years.

I'd been told of all the things you're meant to feel when your father dies. Sudden freedom, growing up, the end of dependence, the step into the sunlight when no one is taller than you and you're in no one's shadow. I know what I felt. Lonely.

My father passed away before he saw me perform. I can't help but wonder what he would think of all this. I go to a job in full makeup.

My father was an atheist, absent. He was a salesman; I was four years old when he told me that the end of life was death.

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?

I wish my father could be around.

You know, when you have a father who's pretty well known but you don't see him, the last thing you want to do is start talking about him all the time to people.

People say you don't need a father to be successful. I take offense to that. I had an argument with my mom about Father's Day and why it's not celebrated like Mother's Day.

In reality, if he had lived, I would have had a dad. And that would have been an incredible experience.

My dad was dead, so these streets had to raise me.

I wondered what my father had looked like that day, how he had felt, marrying the lively and beautiful girl who was my mother. I wondered what his life was like now. Did he ever think of us? I wanted to hate him, but I couldn't; I didn't know him well enough. Instead, I wondered about him occasionally, with a confused kind of longing. There was a place inside me carved out for him; I didn't want it to be there, but it was. Once, at the hardware store, Brooks had shown me how to use a drill. I'd made a tiny hole that went deep. The place for my father was like that.