They Copied All They Could

If You Can Keep Your Wits About You While All Others Are Losing Theirs, And Blaming You. The World Will Be Yours And Everything In It, What's More, You'll Be A Man, My Son.

The Jungle Speaks To Me Because I Know How To Listen.

Call A Truce, Then, To Our Labors - Let Us Feast With Friends And Neighbors, And Be Merry As The Custom Of Our Caste; For If ''faint And Forced The Laughter,'' And If Sadness Follow After, We Are Richer By One Mocking Christmas Past.

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.

Men, Not Children Or Servants, Tempered And Taught To The End; Cleansed Of Servile Panic, Slow To Dread Or Despise, Humble Because Of Knowledge, Mighty By Sacrifice.