You're Not A Man, You're

Trying To Be Witty Leads To Lying, More Or Less.

Mad Is The Man Who Is Forever Gritting His Teeth Against That Granite Block, Complete And Changeless, Of The Past.

To Be A Man Is To Feel That One's Own Stone Contributes To Building The Edifice Of The World.

The Job Has Its Grandeurs, Yes. There Is The Exultation Of Arriving Safely After A Storm, The Joy Of Gliding Down Out Of The Darkness Of Night Or Tempest Toward A Sun-drenched Alicante Or Santiago; There Is The Swelling Sense Of Returning To Repossess One's Place In Life, In The Miraculous Garden Of Earth, Where Are Trees And Women And, Down By The Harbor, Friendly Little Bars. When He Has Throttled His Engine And Is Banking Into The Airport, Leaving The Somber Cloud Masses Behind, What Pilot Does Not Break Into Song?

You'll Be Bothered From Time To Time By Storms, Fog, Snow. When You Are, Think Of Those Who Went Through It Before You, And Say To Yourself, 'what They Could Do, I Can Do.'