Frank Flint sat on the street corner drunk with me twenty-seven years ago in Chicago when I said: “I’ll bid you goodbye, boys, I’m going to Jesus.” Say men, did I win the game of life, or did they?
BEACON LIGHTS ON BILLY’S TRAIL.
I owe God everything. I owe the devil nothing except the best fight I can put up against him.
The church needs more of God and less dress and strife over money.
Judas bought a ticket to hell for thirty pieces of silver, and it wasn’t a round-trip ticket, either.
Every saloon gives the devil a better chance to land your boy in hell.
You breed more infidels with your “divine philosophy” than all the Ingersols in the world.
The church doesn’t need new members as much as she needs to have the old bunch made over.
A lot of people, from the way they live, make you think they’ve got a ticket to heaven on a Pullman parlor car, and have ordered the porter to wake ’em when they get there. But they’ll get side-tracked almost before they’re started.