Zitat des Tages über Papa:
It was on my fifth birthday that Papa put his hand on my shoulder and said, 'Remember, my son, if you ever need a helping hand, you'll find one at the end of your arm.'
It's especially important for my little girl to see her papa at work.
There's nothing like a love for our children. I love being a papa, and that's the truth.
Papa always makes it clear that he would like to know me as much more rational and lucid than the girls and women he gets to know during his analytic hours.
'Healing,' Papa would tell me, 'is not a science, but the intuitive art of wooing nature.'
Papa died when he was 77.
Melanie is more of a disciplinarian with the little girl than me, probably because it's my first baby. She gets everything easy from Papa. I am more weak. She takes advantage of me.
I have a house, with two big plasma-screen TVs, two dogs, a grill, chessboard. I like to keep it low-key: invite friends over, order some Papa John's pizzas and Coors Light, play poker and ping-pong and chill. I'm pretty private.
My parents never told me about Papa's lung cancer or the desperate nature of the operations he was about to undergo, which were a last-ditch effort to contain the spread of his cancer.
I was criticized at some level within the Republican Party by those who say government should not be in the economic development business at all. My response is that the only country I know that doesn't have an economic development plan is Papa New Guinea.
Papa continually emphasizes how much remains unexplained. With the other psychoanalytic writers, everything is always so known and fixed.
I don't believe in honors - it bothers me. Honors bother: honors is epaulettes; honors is uniforms. My papa brought me up this way.
I fed them every day. So it was a papa that kept food on the table for them. I did that. I did my part.
Some people ask me whether I'm a 'mama's girl' or a 'papa's girl.' I'm nobody's girl. My brother clings to our parents; I'm the one shoving them out the door.
Actually, when I was young, I believe I met Nicolas Cage. I think I was probably eight, and I remember seeing him at somebody's house - it was an event and he happened to be there. People would ask me if I was his son, because I looked like him at that point, so I do remember feeling some connection and just wanting to say, like, 'Papa!'
Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes and prism, are all very good words for the lips.
Te Papa Museum is brilliant.
