I don't know, maybe I shouldn't have done this. First thing, I took him home and dangled him over the balcony.
David Letterman, announcing to the public that he was the proud father of Harry Letterman, in reference to an incident by Michael Jackson, CBSNews.com
Everybody was a baby once, Arthur. Oh, sure, maybe not today, or even yesterday. But once. Babies, chum: tiny, dimpled, fleshy mirrors of our us-ness, that we parents hurl into the future, like leathery footballs of hope. And you've got to get a good spiral on that baby, or evil will make an interception.
Each morning I call for the best in me: “I am sent a child. He is a dear guest. I thank him for his existence. He is called to this life as am I, and this unites us – we are people; we are living. He is the same as I am. He is a man, not a future man, but a man today, and therefore he is different from any other people. I accept him as I accept another man. I accept my child… I accept him and protect his childhood. And I understand, tolerate, accept and forgive him. I don’t force him. I don’t humiliate him by my strength because I love him. I love him and thank him for who he is and for that I can love him, and thus, I elevate in my own spirit.
