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.

“No it's not. It's a big hot!” At 2 years old. After being warned that the car seat was a little hot.

'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...)

'Families are about love overcoming emotional torture.'

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