Only the road and the dawn, the sun, the wind, and the rain, And the watch fire under stars, and sleep, and the road again.

And may we find when ended is the page, Death but a tavern on our pilgrimage.

Since the printing press came into being, poetry has ceased to be the delight of the whole community of man; it has become the amusement and delight of the few.

And he who gives a child a treat Makes joy-bells ring in Heaven's street, And he who gives a child a home Builds palaces in Kingdom come, And she who gives a baby birth Brings Saviour Christ again to Earth.

Commonplace people dislike tragedy because they dare not suffer and cannot exult.

Off Cape Horn there are but two kinds of weather, neither one of them a pleasant kind.

In this life he laughs longest who laughs last.