Our great adventure ran out of petrol and stopped on this farm.
Jack reads too many books. He thinks we're going to drive all year and have great adventures.
My father said to remember your enemies as well as your friends, and don't trust either of them.
After the war I was going to make up for lost time. But the time I spent away, it's still lost. No matter what I do, it stays lost.
I'm not sure if my dream is a dream, or a nightmare.
Pretty girls kissed me on victory day, their lips soft red petals brushing my face.
and I'm thinking as our bodies meet that I'll remember this forever, and i just hope it's for all the right reasons.
So, we skipped Annabel, and discussed condoms. I said I liked the orange ones, and we ended our talk in laughter.
I work hard in the orchard, not for the money anymore, but for something I can't explain. Something worth more than money.
It was a good apple too. A good apple, picked by a madman on a full moon night.
And I feel like a real Dad when I read to her at night. She won't sleep without one story, at least.
He walks through the house of his past, hoping he'll find the right door, hoping he'll find the key.
Nobody in school is stronger than me. But when Sally Holmes kissed me, I never felt so weak in all my life.
I tell him about ... Jack and Annabel, smart and ready and I'm wondering where all that smart comes from and I figure some from parents, some from school, and some from a place inside you.
I decide to make the most of the time we got left before she gets too big for this small town.
Her body begs to be taken away and put into a warm bed with the sheets pulled high, even though nothing can help now.
I've tried praying. It gives me comfort. But not as much as a cup of tea and a ginger nut biscuit.
I'm drinking away the exam results that don't take me anywhere.
I'm glad she left me the kids. I'd be lost without them. Lost and bitter. With them here, I'm only bitter.
She taught me what's important, and what isn't. And I've never forgotten. And that's what mothers do, I say.
Men walk through tragedy, quietly, calm and precise on the outside, tearing themselves to shreds inside.
I'm dreaming of a month of Sundays.
I walked out of his room sure I'd said the right thing maybe not as a father but as a Dad. I'd said the right thing, for once in my life.
He looks a hell of a lot like me, only a fair bit older.
As I stood on the lonely backroad, I'm sure I heard birds, kookaburras, laughing ...