Royalty Is But A Feather In A

Make The Iron Hot By Striking It.

On Becoming Soldiers We Have Not Ceased To Be Citizens.

Weeds And Nettles, Briars And Thorns, Have Thriven Under Your Shadow, Dissettlement And Division, Discontentment And Dissatisfaction, Together With Real Dangers To The Whole.

No One Rises So High As He Who Knows Not Whither He Is Going. Not Only Strike While The Iron Is Hot, But Make It Hot By Striking. Do Not Trust The Cheering, For Those Persons Would Shout As Much If You Or I Were Going To Be Hanged.

I Have Not The Particular Shining Bauble Or Feather In My Cap For Crowds To Gaze At Or Kneel To, But I Have Power And Resolution For Foes To Tremble At.