Certain is it that there is no kind of affection so purely angelic as of a father to a daughter. In love to our wives there is desire; to our sons, ambition; but to our daughters there is something which there are no words to express.

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

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

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

'The happiest moments of my life have been the few which I have passed at home in the bosom of my family.'