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!

There are hundreds who can stand failure to one who can stand success; the good loser is far more common than the good winner.

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

There must be a day or two in a man's life when he is the precise age for something important.

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.

Middle age occurs when you are too young to take up golf and too old to rush up to the net.

Remember how excited you were when you turned five years old. Today, you should be 10 times that excited. Happy 50th birthday!