The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children. The mighty abstract idea I have of beauty in all things stifles the more divided and minute domestic happiness.

“If we call these foothills, can we call the little trees 'foot trees?''' (While driving in the foothills.)

'There is no such thing as 'fun for the whole family.''

Every man sees in his relatives, and especially in his cousins, a series of grotesque caricatures of himself.

“If all the people in the world were nice could we just get rid of the word mean?”