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

I hope they get here soon. The kids are biting at the chomp.

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

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

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.