Accustomed as I am to public speaking, I know the futility of it.

Nothing is more responsible for the good old days than a bad memory.

Elections are won by men and women chiefly because most people vote against somebody rather than for somebody.

One man's pointlessness is another's barbed satire.

As we see censorship it is a stupid giant traffic policeman answering "Yes" to "Am I my brother's copper?" He guards a one-way street and his semaphore has four signs, all marked "stop.

These are the saddest of possible words, Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance. Trio of Bear Cubs fleeter than birds, Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance. Ruthlessly pricking our gonfalon bubble, Making a Giant hit into a double, Words that are weighty with nothing but trouble, Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance. This brief poem, immortalized the Chicago Cubs' double-play combination: Shortstop Joe Tinker, second baseman Johnny Evers, and first baseman Frank Chance.

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