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

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

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.

'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?”