For last year's words belong to last year's language, and next year's words await another voice.

And to make an end is to make a beginning.

We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.

My greatest trouble is getting the curtain up and down.

Sin is, somehow, at the root of all human misery. Sin is what keeps us from God and from life. It is in the face of every battered woman, the cry of every neglected child, the despair of every addict, the death of every victim of every war.

It may be that the carbon tax is the final chapter in the strange death of Labor Australia.

Few of us will forget the wail of mingled grief, rage and horror which rose from the camp when the Indians returned to it and recognized their slaughtered warriors, women, and children.

The walking wounded, impaired in life and dissected in death, were our primary clues to where and how parts of the brain work.