It is impossible to design a system so perfect that no one needs to be good.

Think not forever of yourselves, O Chiefs, nor of your own generation. Think of continuing generations of our families, think of our grandchildren and of those yet unborn, whose faces are coming from beneath the ground.

Would it have been worth while, To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it towards some overwhelming question

To country people Cows are mild, And flee from any stick they throw; But I’m a timid town bred child, And all the cattle seem to know.

As we grow older, the world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated of dead and living.

Most of the trouble in the world is caused by people wanting to be important.

That is not it at all, That is not what I meant, at all.