Why should you row a boat race? Why endure the long months of pain in preparation for a fierce half hour that will leave you all but dead? Does anyone ask the question? Is there anyone who would not go through all the costs, and more, for the moment when anguish breaks into triumph or even for the glory of having nobly lost? Is life less than a boat race? If a man will give the blood in his body to win the one, will he spend all the might of his soul to prevail in the other?

There was never an idea started that woke up men out of their stupid indifference but its originator was spoken of as a crank.

Nothing is so commonplace has the wish to be remarkable.

Men, like peaches and pears, grow sweet a little while before they begin to decay.

Old age is like an opium dream. Nothing seems real except the unreal.

Life is painting a picture, not doing a sum.

A new and valid idea is worth more than a regiment and fewer men can furnish the former than command the latter.