Poor children still smile. Even during the war, even among the rubble. My father, forever a janus head.
I never told my mother I loved her. We don’t talk about love in our family. But I love my father. I really do. I have his eyes, and I have his strength.
He is the very Janus of Poets; he wears almost everywhere two faces; and you have scarce begun to admire the one, ere you despise the other.John Dryden, on Shakespeare