Everyone says that forgiveness is a lovely idea until he has something to forgive.

The day is done; and slowly from the scene the stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, and puts them back into his golden quiver!

Don't cross the bridge til you come to it.

Think not because no man sees, such things will remain unseen.

Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.

The Nile, forever new and old, Among the living and the dead, Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled.

He had mittens, Minjekahwun, Magic mittens made of deer-skin; When upon his hands he wore them, He could smite the rocks asunder, He could grind them into powder.