[A]ll of life, as we know it, moves in little, unavailing circles. More justly than to anything else, it can be likened to the game of baseball. Crack! we hit the ball, and away we go. If we earn a run (in life we call it success) we get back to the home plate and sit upon a bench. If we are thrown out, we walk back to the home plate -- and sit upon a bench.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl.

If a person has lived through war, poverty and love, he has lived a full life

Write what you like; there is no other rule.

There is a saying that no man has tasted the full flavor of life until he has known poverty, love, and war.

There is one day that is ours. There is one day when all we Americans who are not self-made go back to the old home to eat saleratus biscuits and marvel how much nearer to the porch the old pump looks than it used to. Thanksgiving Day is the one day that is purely American.

What is the world at its best but a little round field of the moving pictures with two walking together in it?