'I'm not beautiful, I'm pretty!' (Angrily at age 2 and a half. After getting into his sister's toy makeup case and being called beautiful...)

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.

'Daddy, there's Victor, only he has more white hairs now.' (about our neighbor 3 doors down who is a regular reader of McClelland Family.com)

“This is our house. And this is America Online.” (While pointing at a map of the North American continent.)