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

Motherhood is the strangest thing, it can be like being one’s own Trojan horse.

As the family goes, so goes the nation and so goes the whole world in which we live.

All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That’s his.

It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons.

Family! Thou art the home of all social evil, a charitable institution for comfortable women, an anchorage for house-fathers, and a hell for children.

Few sons are equal to their fathers; most fall short, all too few surpass them. 

My mother protected me from the world and my father threatened me with it.

Families, I hate you! Shut-in homes, closed doors, jealous possessions of happiness.

In our family, as far as we are concerned, we were born and what happened before that is myth.

One race there is of men, one of gods, but from one mother we both draw our breath.