A man's desire for a son is usually nothing but the wish to duplicate himself in order that such a remarkable pattern may not be lost to the world.
By the time a man realizes that maybe his father was right, he usually has a son who thinks he's wrong.
His father watched him across the gulf of years and pathos which always must divide a father from his son.
If the relationship of father to son could really be reduced to biology, the whole earth would blaze with the glory of fathers and sons.
In peace the sons bury their fathers, but in war the fathers bury their sons.
Sir Walter, being strangely surprised and put out of his countenance at so great a table, gives his son a damned blow over the face. His son, as rude as he was, would not strike his father, but strikes over the face the gentleman that sat next to him and said ''Box about: twill come to my father anon.''
Sons have always a rebellious wish to be disillusioned by that which charmed their fathers.
We think our fathers fools, so wise we grow. Our wiser sons, no doubt will think us so.