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.

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

'I'm not beautiful, I'm pretty!' (Angrily at age 2 and a half. After getting into his sister's toy makeup case and being called beautiful...)

'Dank Dank' (Reflecting his inability to accept compliments for several years.)

'Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city.'