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.)

I hope they get here soon. The kids are biting at the chomp.

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

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