There have always been hard times. There have always been wars and troubles -famine, disease and such-like -and some folks are born with money, some with none. In the end it is up to the man what he becomes, and none of those other things matters. It is character that counts.

Strange how it was always the spoiled who weakened and cried first, and it was the injured, the maimed, the blind, and the poor who fought on alone.

When feeding time comes around, there is nothing a hawk likes better than a nice, fat, peaceful dove.

Even those who fancy themselves the most progressive will fight against other kinds of progress, for each of us is convinced that our way is the best way.

A man in his life may have many teachers, some most unexpected. The question lies with the man himself: Will he learn from them?

There's no stopping a man who knows he's in the right and keeps a-coming.

After a few days, I mused, I would have no trouble. Whoever heard of a revolution of fat men?