The rich man has his motorcar, His country and his town estate, He smokes a fifty-cent cigar And jeers at Fate. He frivols through the livelong day, He knows not Poverty, her pinch. His lot seems light, his heart seems gay; He has a cinch. Yet though my lamp burns low and dim, Though I must slave for livelihood- Think you that I would change with him? You bet I would!

You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance.

Too much truth is uncouth.

I am easily influenced. Compared with me a weather vane is Gibraltar.

If a man keeps his trap shut, the world will beat a path to his door.

And of all glad words of prose or rhyme, The gladdest are Act while there yet is time

Day after day, night after night, my life at home is far from bright, but even home has more variety, than I can find in cafe society.