His life, though none too long, Was never dull: Of woman, wine and song Bill had his full.

It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones who win in the lifelong race.

I have no doubts that the Devil grins, As seas of ink I spatter. Ye gods, forgive my “literary” sins – The other kind don’t matter.

No man can be a failure if he thinks he's a success; If he thinks he is a winner, then he is.

Old Year! upon the Stage of Time You stand to bow your last adieu; A moment, and the prompter's chime Will ring the curtain down on you.

I like to think that when I fall, A rain-drop in Death's shoreless sea, This shelf of books along the wall, Beside my bed, will mourn for me.

The happy man is he who knows his limitations, yet bows to no false gods.