There Is No Sin Greater Than Ignorance.

It Was The Forty-fathom Slumber That Clears The Soul And Eye And Heart, And Sends You To Breakfast Ravening.

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.

God Could Not Be Everywhere, And Therefore He Made Mothers.

The White Moth To The Closing Vine, The Bee To The Open Clover, And The Gypsy Blood To The Gypsy Blood Ever The Wide World Over.

On The Road To Mandalay, Where The Flyin'-fishes Play, An' The Dawn Comes Up Like Thunder Outer; China 'crost The Bay!