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.

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

“I wasn't yawning, I was just letting some fresh air into my mouth.” (After being accused of being tired.)

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

As the family goes, so goes the nation and so goes the whole world in which we live.