The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.
I tell you the past is a bucket of ashes.
Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands and goes to work.
I see America, not in the setting sun of a black night of despair ahead of us, I see America in the crimson light of a rising sun fresh from the burning, creative hand of God. I see great days ahead, great days possible to men and women of will and vision.
A baby is God's opinion that the world should go on.
Nothing happens unless first a dream.
Let a joy keep you. Reach out your hands and take it when it runs by.
When a nation goes down, or a society perishes, one condition may always be found; they forgot where they came from. They lost sight of what had brought them along.
I'm an idealist: I don't know where I'm going but I'm on my way.
Sometime they'll give a war and nobody will come.