Family life is too intimate to be preserved by the spirit of justice. It can be sustained by a spirit of love which goes beyond justice.

“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.

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

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