Dad was joyful until the day he died, and I think that joy was deeply rooted in his love affair with God.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
I'm sure there was some part of his soul was intrinsically happy, but he probably had to go through some permutations to really get that to blossom. I'm sure Dad had his challenges, but I think that joy was there from the beginning and he had to find a way to make his life support that and express that.
It's an ongoing joy being a dad.
Dad was synonymous with his charm and wit and grace, and it was sort of the perfect way to go for him.
One of the accidental joys of my writing life has been that I've had some lovely, surprisingly good fortune with readers, and I've brought readers to my dad's work. I can't tell you the joy that gives me. Because my father's work was masterful.
I am happy now, to recall that I was not only his son but his companion, and whenever there was a hunting expedition or any other pleasure, I was always with him.
My father was always so mingled with rage at his life.
I can say that I never knew what joy was like until I gave up pursuing happiness, or cared to live until I chose to die. For these two discoveries I am beholden to Jesus.
I was lucky to have a great dad.
My father was a joyous, joyous spirit, he really was. He was a hedonist, that was just - he enjoyed life, thrust up to the elbows with it. He was a terrible father. I don't know that he was parented that well.
Happy is the son whose faith in his mother remains unchallenged.