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

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.

All I am, or can be, I owe to my angel mother.

'When you kiss someone, your heart goes out to them, and when you're done kissing them your heart goes back in.'

'A duck!... A baby duck.' (Squealing about a birthday card on her third birthday on Puerta Vallarta, Mexico.