Quotes about Sons

"We've begun to raise daughters more like sons... but few have the courage to raise our sons more like our daughters. "

Know that a word suddenly shot from the tongue is like an arrow shot from the bow. Son, that arrow won't turn back on its way; you must damn the torrent at its source.

Son of man, keep not silent, forget not deeds of tyranny. Cry out at the disaster of a people, recount it unto your children and they unto theirs. From generation to generation the hordes swept in, ran wild and savage and there was no deliverance, valiance, and revolt. How the mighty are fallen, the great in spirit and stout of heart, walking to their death with a halo of eternity. (reference to the Holocaust)

. . . your noble son is mad: Mad call I it; for, to define true madness, What is't but to be nothing else but mad? But let that go.

Macduff's Son to Murtherers: Thou li'st, thou shag-eared villian!

Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know.

'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, To give these mourning duties to your father: But, you must know, your father lost a father; That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound In filial obligation for some term To do obsequious sorrow: but to persever In obstinate condolement is a course Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief; It shows a will most incorrect to heaven, A heart unfortified, a mind impatient, An understanding simple and unschool'd: For what we know must be and is as common As any the most vulgar thing to sense, Why should we in our peevish opposition Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven, A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, To reason most absurd: whose common theme Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried, From the first corse till he that died to-day, 'This must be so.' We pray you, throw to earth This unprevailing woe, and think of us As of a father: for let the world take note, You are the most immediate to our throne; And with no less nobility of love Than that which dearest father bears his son, Do I impart toward you.

Fhairshon had a son, Who married Noah's daughter, And nearly spoiled to Flood, By trinking up ta water: Which he would have done, I at least believe it, Had the mixture peen Only half Glenlivet.

Bernard Loomer's father was a sea captain. He was acquainted with his small place in an uncontrollable nature. In a talk in 1974 Loomer described his father's instructions about the uses of a baseball glove. The father had just overheard his son's sandlot complaints about the thinness of a glove inherited from his older brothers. When his father asked him what a baseball glove was for, young Loomer had said that it was to protect the hand. In the words of Bernard Loomer in his sixties, his father replied: Son, I never have played baseball, but it seems to me you ought to be able to catch the ball bare-handed. The way I look at it, you use a glove not to protect your hand, but to give you a bigger hand to help catch balls that are more difficult to reach. I assume that in this as in all walks of life there are tricks to the trade. I suggest you learn how to catch with that glove for two reasons. First, because you are not going to get another one, and second, because you don't need protection from life. You need a glove to give you a bigger hand to catch baseballs you might otherwise miss. As the decade of the 1970s progressed, Loomer reflected increasingly on the fact that what you might otherwise miss [in theology] was irrational, even evil, but [that it] must be caught anyway. Loomer grew increasingly dissatisfied with those who seemed to restrict their reach-even Whitehead was faulted. And increasingly it appeared that Christian theology was the theology Loomer had-that he was not going to get another one-and so, although it was thin in places, he attempted to use the one theology he had, to catch all he could. [This] suggests the meaning of Loomer's special term, "size." Size signifies "the volume of life you can take into your being and still maintain your integrity."

Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too.

Some labor this side of the veil, others on the other side of the veil. If we tarry here we expect to labor in the cause of salvation and if we go hence we expect to continue our work until the coming of the Son of Man. The only difference is, while we are here we are subject to pain and sorrow, while they on the other side are free from affliction of every kind.

With regard to our position before we came here, . . . we dwelt with the Father and with the Son, as expressed in the hymn, "O My Father.". . . We dwelt in the presence of God before we came here.

You don't raise heroes, you raise sons. And if you treat them like sons they'll turn out to be heroes, even if it's just in your own eyes.

All things are connected, like the blood which unites one family. All things are connected. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth.

Shamrock of foliage, Shamrock of entwining, Shamrock of the prayer, Shamrock of my love. Shamrock of my sorrow, Plant of Patrick of the virtues, Shamrock of the Son of Mary, Journey's end of the peoples. Shamrock of grace, Of joy, of the tombs, It were my wish in death You should grow on my grave.

You must teach your children that the ground beneath their feet is the ashes of your grandfathers. So that they will respect the land, tell your children that the earth is rich with the lives of our kin. Teach your children what we have taught our children, that the earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves.

The Lord hates a quitter, But he doesn't hate him, son, When a quitter is quitting What he shouldn't have begun.

Dear Mom and Dad and Bill and Glad: Caught a fish. Camp's a wow! Sleeping out is grand. Swimming's fun. Hiking's fine. Food is full of sand. Fire at night. Moon is bright. I'm all right God's at hand. Have to run. Your son . . . Brad.

There was a generation gap between Lucifer and his Father, but another Son understood deeper principles and carried on his Father's work.

Echo A son and his father were walking on the mountains. Suddenly, his son falls, hurts himself and screams: AAAhhhhhhhhhhh!!!" To his surprise, the son hears the voice repeating, somewhere in the mountain: "AAAhhhhhhhhhhh!!!" Curious, he yells: "Who are you?" He receives the answer: "Who are you?" Angered at the response, he screams: "Coward!" He receives the answer: "Coward!" He looks to his father and asks: "What's going on?" The father smiles and says: "My son, pay attention." And then he screams to the mountain: "I admire you!" The voice answers: "I admire you!" Again the man screams: "You are a champion!" The voice answers: "You are a champion!" The boy is surprised, but does not understand. Then the father explains: "People call this ECHO, but really this is LIFE. It gives you back everything you say or do. Our life is simply a reflection of our actions. If you want more love in the world, create more love in your heart. If you want more competence in your team, improve your competence. This relationship applies to everything, in all aspects of life; Life will give you back everything you have given to it." YOUR LIFE IS NOT A COINCIDENCE. IT'S A REFLECTION OF YOU!

This is the story of the little bee whose sex is very hard to see. You cannot tell the he from the she but she can tell, and so can he. The busy bee is never still and has no time to take the Pill. And that is why, in times like these, there are so many sons of bees.

"But why doesn't the Gospel ever say that Christ laughed?" I asked, for no good reason. "Is Jorge right?" "Legions of scholars have wondered whether Christ laughed. The question doesn't interest me much. I believe he never laughed, because, omniscient as the son of God had to be, he knew how we Christians would behave. . . ."

When we have enough confidence in the discerning power of the Spirit, we stop worrying so much about forms and are concerned more to open up what is really deep within us, things that we cannot even find words or sounds for. Then the Spirit translates and transmits our strivings. We can take our strivings, even those we cannot express, and know that as we silently, prayerfully direct them toward the Father and the Son, the Spirit will translate them perfectly. In turn, the Spirit can communicate the Lord's response as can no other power. A great confidence and a great freedom can come when we trust the Spirit for that.

Whence Comes This Rush of Wings? Whence comes this rush of wings afar, Following straight the Noël star? Birds from the woods in wondrous flight, Bethlehem seek this Holy Night. "Tell us, ye birds, why come ye here, Into this stable, poor and drear?" "Hast'ning we seek the new-loom King, And all our sweetest music bring." Hark! how the greenfinch bears his part, Philomel, too, with tender heart, Chants from her leafy dark retreat, Re, mi, fa, sol, in accents sweet. Angels and shepherds, birds of the sky, Come where the Son of God cloth lie; Christ on earth with man cloth dwell, Join in the shout, "Noël, Noël!"

What Child Is This? What Child is this, who, laid to rest On Mary's lap, is sleeping? Whom angels greet with anthems sweet, While shepherds watch are keeping? Refrain: This, this is Christ the King, Whom shepherds guard and angels sing; Haste, haste to bring Him laud, The Babe, the Son of Mary. Why lies He in such mean estate, Where ox and ass are feeding? Good Christians fear: for sinners here The silent Word is pleading. Refrain So bring Him incense, gold, and myrrh, Come peasant, King to own Him; The King of Kings salvation brings; Let loving hearts enthrone Him! Refrain

With the birth of the Babe in Bethlehem, there emerged a great endowment, a power stronger than weapons, a wealth more lasting than the coins of Caesar. This child was to be the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, the promised Messiah - even Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow! Praise Him, all creatures here below! Praise Him above, ye heavenly host! Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!

Awake, my soul, and with the sun thy daily course of duty run. Cast off dull sloth, and joyful rise to pay thy morning sacrifice. All praise to thee, who safe hast kept and hast refreshed me while I slept! Grant, Lord, when I from death shall wake, I may of endless life partake. All praise to thee, my God, this night for all the blessings of the light. Keep me, oh keep me, King of Kings, beneath Thine own almighty wings. Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow. Praise Him, all creatures here below. Praise Him above, ye heavenly host. Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Ye Mariners of England, That guard our native sons; Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, The battle and the breeze!

Long live the weeds that overwhelm My narrow vegetable realm! The bitter rock, the barren soil That force the son of man to toil; All things unholy, marred by curse, The ugly of the universe.