The lot of man-to suffer and die.

What greater glory attends a man than what he wins with his racing feet and his striving hands?

If you don't like your job, you don't strike! You just go in every day, and do it really half assed. That's the American way.

A generation of men is like a generation of leaves; the wind scatters some leaves upon the ground, while others the burgeoning wood brings forth - and the season of spring comes on. So of men one generation springs forth and another ceases.

And not a man appears to tell their fate.

Rock stars, is there anything they don't know?

Life and death are balanced as it were on the edge of a razor