Some Men Are Heroes By

... And We Are Not Alone In This Slavery. There Are Millions Of Others Throughout The World, Of All Colors And Races And Creeds. This We Must Remember. There Are Many Of Our People Who Hate The Poor Of The White Race, And They Hate Us. The People In This Town Living By The River Who Work In The Mills. People Who Are Almost As Much In Need As We Are Ourselves. This Hatred Is A Great Evil, And No Good Can Ever Come From It... The Injustice Of Need Must Bring Us All Together And Not Separate Us. We Must Remember That We All Make The Things Of This Earth Of Value Because Of Labor.

You Don't Know What It Is To Store Up A Lot Of Details And Then Come Upon Something Real.

It Is A Curious Emotion, This Certain Homesickness I Have In Mind. With Americans, It Is A National Trait, As Native To Us As The Roller-coaster Or The Jukebox. It Is No Simple Longing For The Home Town Or Country Of Our Birth. The Emotion Is Janus-faced: We Are Torn Between A Nostalgia For The Familiar And An Urge For The Foreign And Strange. As Often As Not, We Are Homesick Most For The Places We Have Never Known.

But No Value Has Been Put On Human Life; It Is Given To Us Free And Taken Without Being Paid For. What Is It Worth? If You Look Around, At Times The Value May Seem To Be Little Or Nothing At All. Often After You Have Sweated And Tried And Things Are Not Better For You, There Comes A Feeling Deep Down In The Soul That You Are Not Worth Much.

Death Is The Great Gamer With A Sleeve Of Tricks.