The wizest thing about a man iz hiz conscience—edukashun don’t improve it.
If yu want tew find out the ruling pashun ov a hoss, feed him high on oats—it iz jiss so with mankind.
Az a gineral rule, the best way iz tew decide yureself what bizness in life it iz best for yure yung one tew foller, and then stick him at it while he iz limber—men alwus pole vines before they begin tew run mutch.
The only way for me to git out ov a tight spot iz tew git into it fust. Sum folks kan tell exackly how a thing feels by not tuching it, but I kant.
The more babes in a family, the eazier and better they are raized—one chicken alwus makes an old hen more clucking and scratching than a duzen duz.
It takes an uncommon smart man, now-daze, tew make money by telling the truth—it iz aktually an evidense ov genius.
It iz a very small spot in the lightning bug’s tail that shines; it iz the darkness ov the nite that makes it so brilliant—it iz jist so with virtew.
Nussing revenge iz like missing a yung hedgehog—the older he grows, the sharper hiz quills.
The good man iz like an old-fashioned Nu England clock—hiz soul iz the pendulem whose regular moshuns giv life and grace tew hiz hands and face, thus showing the good works that are inside ov him.
Most ov the epitaffs on the tombstuns read like gideboards tew the grate citty, and without them a great menny would take the wrong road.