It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out; it's the grain of sand in your shoe.

It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out; it's the grain of sand in your shoe.

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.

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 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.

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.

Even goats may have starlight in their eyes.