Men Are But Men, And The Greatest

My Characters Are More Like Men Than These Real Men Are, See. They're Rough And Rude, They Got Hands And They Got Bellies. They Hate And They Lust; Break The Skin Of Civilization And You Find The Ape, Roaring And Red-handed.

I Think The Real Reason So Many Youngsters Are Clamoring For Freedom Of Some Vague Sort, Is Because Of Unrest And Dissatisfaction With Present Conditions; I Don't Believe This Machine Age Gives Full Satisfaction In A Spiritual Way, If The Term May Be Allowed.

It Is An Ill Thing To Meet A Man You Thought Dead In The Woodland At Dusk.

In The Hill Country, Civilization Steals In Last, And The People Retain Much Of The Crude But Vigorous Mode Of Expression Of The Colonial Days And Earlier.

What Do I Know Of Cultured Ways, The Gilt, The Craft And The Lie? I, Who Was Born In A Naked Land And Bred In The Open Sky. The Subtle Tongue, The Sophist Guile, They Fail When The Broadswords Sing; Rush In And Die, Dogs—i Was A Man Before I Was A King.