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.

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.

A promise made is a debt unpaid.

This is the law of the Yukon, that only the strong shall thrive; that surely the weak shall perish, and only the fit survive.

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

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

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