What Men Call Luck Is The Prerogative

A Man Is Old When He Can Pass An Apple Orchard And Not Remember The Stomachache.

But Civlyzation Doos Git Forrid Sometimes Upon A Powder-cart.

It Is The Privilege Of Genius That Life Never Grows Common Place, As It Does For The Rest Of Us.

Some Kind Of Pace May Be Got Out Of The Eeriest Jade By The Near Prospect Of Oats; But The Thoroughbred Has The Spur In His Blood.

One Thorn Of Experience Is Worth A Whole Wilderness Of Warning.