Rudyard Kipling

But that's another story.

But that's another story.

Over all good things certain, this is sure indeed,
Suffer not the old King, for we know the breed.

Over all good things certain, this is sure indeed,
Suffer not the old King, for we know the breed.

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