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

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

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

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.

'When you kiss someone, your heart goes out to them, and when you're done kissing them your heart goes back in.'