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

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.

Nobody has ever before asked the nuclear family to live all by itself in a box the way we do. With no relatives, no support, we've put us in an impossible situation.

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

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