1 The one whom the daughter loves always seems the worst to the father, you know.
2 Of course, that's all nonsense, of course every father would be reasonable at last.
3 However bad it may be at home, anyway they are your father and mother, and not enemies, strangers.
4 and there your memory on earth will end; other women have children to go to their graves, fathers, husbands.
5 We are stillborn, and for generations past have been begotten, not by living fathers, and that suits us better and better.
6 Our servile rabble applauded, but I attacked him, not from compassion for the girls and their fathers, but simply because they were applauding such an insect.
7 I knew a father who was a stern, austere man, but used to go down on his knees to his daughter, used to kiss her hands, her feet, he couldn't make enough of her, really.
8 When its father comes up, the child tears itself away from the bosom, flings itself back, looks at its father, laughs, as though it were fearfully funny, and falls to sucking again.
9 "If I were a father and had a daughter, I believe I should love my daughter more than my sons, really," I began indirectly, as though talking of something else, to distract her attention.