Rudyard Kipling

He is the Cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to him.

He is the Cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to him.

Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass,
And her ropes are taut with the dew,
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Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass,
And her ropes are taut with the dew,
For we're booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out
trail,
We're sagging south on the Long Trail, the trail that is always
new.

Too much work and too much energy kill a man just as effectively as too much assorted vice or too read more

Too much work and too much energy kill a man just as effectively as too much assorted vice or too much drink

Take up the White Man's burden.

Take up the White Man's burden.

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
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There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
But when we are certain of sorrow in store
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and sisters I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.