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

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

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.

'The happiest moments of my life have been the few which I have passed at home in the bosom of my family.'

“Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.''