I'm not going out of my way looking for devils; but I wouldn't step out of my path to let one go by.

All fled—all done, so lift me on the pyre— The Feast is over, and the lamps expire.

When a nation forgets her skill in war, when her religion becomes a mockery, when the whole nation becomes a nation of money-grabbers, then the wild tribes, the barbarians drive in... Who will our invaders be? From whence will they come?

Every twinge of sensation, even of agony, was a negation of death.

Civilized men are more discourteous than savages because they know they can be impolite without having their skulls split, as a general thing.

What do I know of cultured ways, the gilt, the craft and the lie? I, who was born in a naked land and bred in the open sky. The subtle tongue, the sophist guile, they fail when the broadswords sing; Rush in and die, dogs—I was a man before I was a king.

How can I wear the harness of toil And sweat at the daily round, While in my soul forever The drums of Pictdom sound?