Of all the liars in the world, sometimes the worst are our own fears.

The first condition of understanding a foreign country is to smell it.

If I were hanged on the highest hill, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! I know whose love would follow me still Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!

Let each man be judged by his deeds, I have paid my price to live with myself on the terms that I willed.

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

Fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds worth of distance run.

And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart, till the Devil whispered behind the leaves 'It's pretty, but is it Art?'