I admired my father very much... at the age of sixteen. But now I see that he was a brutal and cruel man, - but not without remorse, and that was what tortured us, his alternations.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
My father wasn't a cruel man. And I loved him. But he was a pretty tough character. His own father was even tougher - one of those Victorians, hard as iron - but my dad was tough enough.
My father was very intense, passionate and over-the-top. He was my hero and my tyrant.
I adored my father - I was more attached to him than anyone.
Even after he was gone, I still loved my father. I looked Norwegian, like him, with a long face, strong jaw, thin mouth, and flashing eyes. And, like him, I was verbal, easygoing, and low-key on the surface, and, deep down, proud, socially paranoid, full of self-loathing, and prone to rage at injustice.
My father was this big, tough guy, almost heroic in proportion to me as a child. It was only later that I saw how fearful he was.
I have lots of memories of my father. He was an incredible father. We all loved him to death.
I'm told I'm like my father, and he was the most wonderful man. But I think he was gentler than me.
My father was a man of love. He always loved me to death. He worked hard in the fields, but my father never hit me. Never. I don't ever remember a really cross, unkind word from my father.
My father died when I was 7. I was his favorite child, and he was my beloved father. I brought him along with me all through my life. Every elderly man has a bit of my father in him for me.
I adored my father.
No opposing quotes found.