Quote

The trails of the world be countless, and most of the trails be tried You tread on the heels of the many, till you come where the ways divideAnd one lies safe in the sunlight, and the other is dreary and wan,But you look aslant at the Lone Trail, and the Lone Trail lures you on.

Robert W. Service

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Robert W. Service
Age: 84 †
Born: 1874
Born: January 16
Died: 1958
Died: September 11
Autobiographer
Novelist
Poet
War Correspondent
Writer
Robert William Service
Ways
Divide
Lures
Lying
Divides
Tread
Look
Sunlight
Lure
Come
Heels
Lone
Looks
Till
Dreary
Many
Tried
Trail
Way
Lies
Countless
World
Safe
Trails

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When children's children shall talk of War as a madness that may not be When we thank our God for our grief today, and blazon from sea to sea In the name of the Dead the banner of Peace ... that will be Victory.
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Even goats may have starlight in their eyes.
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Be sure your wisest words are those you do not say.
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Then you've a hunch what the music meant . . . hunger and night and the stars.
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It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones who win in the lifelong race.
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No man can be a failure if he thinks he's a success If he thinks he is a winner, then he is.
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Avoid extremes: be moderate In saving and in spending An equable and easy gait Will win an easy ending.
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And each forgets, as he strips and runs With a brilliant, fitful pace, It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones Who win in the lifelong race. And each forgets that his youth has fled, Forgets that his prime is past, Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead, In the glare of the truth at last.
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Old Year! upon the Stage of Time You stand to bow your last adieu A moment, and the prompter's chime Will ring the curtain down on you.
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A promise made is a debt unpaid.
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This is the law of the Yukon, that only the strong shall thrive that surely the weak shall perish, and only the fit survive.
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The Wanderlust has got me... by the belly-aching fire
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His life, though none too long, Was never dull: Of woman, wine and song Bill had his full.
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I have no doubts that the Devil grins, As seas of ink I spatter. Ye gods, forgive my “literary” sins – The other kind don’t matter.
Robert W. Service