Let all who build beware The load, the shock, the pressure Material can bear. So, when the buckled girder Lets down the grinding span, The blame of loss, or murder, Is laid upon the man. Not on the Stuff - the Man!

If you can meet success and failure and treat them both as impostors, then you are a balanced man, my son.

They copied all they could copy, But they couldn't copy my mind; And I left them sweatin' and stealin', A year and a half behind.

You sometimes see a woman who would have made a Joan of Arc in another century and climate, threshing herself to pieces over all the mean worry of housekeeping.

I wasted my substance, I know I did, on riotous living, so I did, but there's nothing on record to show I did more than my betters have done.

Well, if I am a man, a man I must become.

One cannot resist the lure of Africa.