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

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.

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.

'Dank Dank' (Reflecting his inability to accept compliments for several years.)