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

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.)

“If all the people in the world were nice could we just get rid of the word mean?”