He Who Can Reach A Child's Heart

One Half Of My Head, From The Top Of My Skull To The Cleft Of My Jaw, Hammers, Bangs, Sizzles While The Other Half, Serene And Content, Looks On At The Agony Next Door.

War Is An Ill Thing, As I Surely Know. But 'twould Be An Ill World For Weaponless Dreamers If Evil Men Were Not Now And Then Slain.

If You Can Meet Success And Failure And Treat Them Both As Impostors, Then You Are A Balanced Man, My Son.

Politicians. Little Tin Gods On Wheels.

All The People Like Us Are We, And Everyone Else Is They.