The Buffaloes Are Gone. And Those Who

A Book Is Never A Masterpiece: It Becomes One. Genius Is The Talent Of A Dead Man.

Every Blunder Behind Us Is Giving A Cheer For Us, And Only For Those Who Were Willing To Fail Are The Dangers And Splendors Of Life.

The Wind Bit Hard At Valley Forge One Christmas. Soldiers Tied Rags On Their Feet. Red Footprints Wrote On The Snow...

I Was Up Day And Night With Lincoln For Years. I Couldn't Have Picked A Better Companion.

I Have Become Infected, Now That I See How Beautifully A Book Is Coming Out Of All This.