Rise early. Write. Disappoint your sons. Read the newspaper. Go to bed early. Success.

Man must shape his tools lest they shape him.

After all the highways, and the trains, and the appointments, and the years, you end up worth more dead than alive.

PROCTOR, his mind wild, breathless: I say--I say--God is dead!

Great stones they lay upon his chest until he plead aye or nay. They say he give them but two words. "More weight," he says. And died.

A little man makes a mistake and they hang him by the thumbs; the big ones become ambassadors.

Oh,Elizabeth, your justice would freeze beer.