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.

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

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

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

“If we call these foothills, can we call the little trees 'foot trees?''' (While driving in the foothills.)