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

And each forgets, as he strips and runs With a brilliant, fitful pace, It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones Who win in the lifelong race. And each forgets that his youth has fled, Forgets that his prime is past, Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead, In the glare of the truth at last.

The only society I like is rough and tough, and the tougher the better. There's where you get down to bedrock and meet human people.

Avoid extremes: be moderate In saving and in spending; An equable and easy gait Will win an easy ending.

Write verse, not poetry. The public wants verse. If you have a talent for poetry, then don't by any means mother it, but try your hand at verse.

The lonely sunsets flare forlorn Down valleys dreadly desolate; The lonely mountains soar in scorn As still as death, as stern as fate.

Our breath is brief, and being so Let's make our heaven here below, And lavish kindness as we go.