To meet Roosevelt with all his buoyant sparkle, his iridescence, was like opening a bottle of champagne.

An extra yawn one morning in the springtime, an extra snooze one night in the autumn is all that we ask in return for dazzling gifts. We borrow an hour one night in April; we pay it back with golden interest five months later.

Nothing will bring American sympathy along with us so much as American blood shed in the field.

Have not Manet and Monet, Cézanne and Matisse, rendered to painting something of the same service which Keats and Shelley gave to poetry after the solemn and ceremonious literary perfections of the eighteenth century? They have brought back to the pictorial art a new draught of joie de vivre; and the beauty of their work is instinct with gaiety, and floats in sparkling air. I do not expect these masters would particularly appreciate my defence, but I must avow an increasing attraction to their work.

Eating words has never given me indigestion.

Never give up. Never give up. Never give up.

The further back I look, the further forward I can see.