Winter Is Not A Season, It's An

The Greatest Mystery About A Human Being Is Not His Reaction To Sex Or Praise, But The Manner In Which He Contrives To Put In Twenty-four Hours A Day. It Is This Which Puzzles The Longshoreman About The Clerk, The Londoner About The Bushman.

The Middle Class, That Prisoner Of The Barbarian 20th Century.

Men Die, But The Plutocracy Is Immortal; And It Is Necessary That Fresh Generations Should Be Trained To Its Service.

Every Man Is A King So Long As He Has Someone To Look Down On.

Winter Is Not A Season, It's An Occupation.