Not for myself I make this prayer, But for this race of mine That stretches forth from shadowed places Dark hands for bread and wine.

There is no secret to success except hard work and getting something indefinable which we call 'the breaks.

We were not made to eternally weep.

I was reared in the conservative atmosphere of a Methodist parsonage.

I have a rendezvous with life.

All day long and all night through, One thing only must I do: Quench my pride and cool my blood, Lest I perish in the flood.

Whatever lives is granted breath But by the grace and sufferance of Death.