We have forty million reasons for failure, but not a single excuse.

The jungle speaks to me because I know how to listen.

What stands if Freedom fail? What dies of England live?

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.

They shut the road through the woods Seventy years ago. Weather and rain have undone it again, And now you would never know There was once a road through the woods

Funny how the new things are the old things.

One learns more from a good scholar in a rage than from a score of lucid and laborious drudges.