I pass with relief from the tossing sea of Cause and Theory to the firm ground of Result and Fact.

A prisoner of war is a man who tries to kill you and fails, and then asks you not to kill him.

They have done what they like. Their difficulty is to like what they have done.

It is arguable whether the human race have been gainers by the march of science beyond the steam engine. Electricity opens a field of infinite conveniences to ever greater numbers, but they may well have to pay dearly for them. But anyhow in my thought I stop short of the internal combustion engine which has made the world so much smaller. Still more must we fear the consequences of entrusting a human race so little different from their predecessors of the so-called barbarous ages such awful agencies as the atomic bomb. Give me the horse.

There is a place for everyone, man and woman, old and young, hale and halt; service in a thousand forms is open. There is no room now for the dilettante, the weakling, for the shirker, or the sluggard. From the highest to the humblest tasks, all are of equal honor; all have their part to play.

Make sure that the beer - four pints a week - goes to the troops under fire before any of the parties in the rear get a drop.

Democracy is a very bad form of government ... but all the others are so much worse.