. . . the weal of the race, and the cause of humanity, here and now, are enough To give life meaning and death as well.

This is Darrow, Inadequately scrawled, with his young, old heart, And his drawl, and his infinite paradox And his sadness, and kindness, And his artist sense that drives him to shape his life To something harmonious, even against the schemes of God.

The tongue may be an unruly member-- But silence poisons the soul.

In time you shall see Fate approach you In the shape of your own image in the mirror.

There is the silence of age, too full of wisdom for the tongue to utter it in words intelligible to those who have not lived the great range of life.

It takes life to love life.

Beware of the man who rises to power from one suspender.