One ov the hardest things for a man to do, iz tew keep still.
Everyboddy wants tew be heard fust, and this iz jist what fills the world with nonsense.
Everyboddy wants tew talk, few want to think, and noboddy wants tew listen.
The greatest talkers amung the feathered folks, are the magpie and ginny hen, and neither ov them are ov mutch account.
If a man ain’t sure he iz right the best kard he kan play iz a blank one.
I have known menny a man tew beat in an argument by just nodding his hed once in a while and simply say, “jess so, jess so.”
It takes a grate menny blows tew drive in a nail, but one will clinch it.
Sum men talk just az a French pony trots, all day long, in a haff bushel meazzure.
Silence never makes enny blunders, and alwus gits az mutch credit az iz due it, and oftimes more.
When i see a man listening to me cluss i alwus say to mi self, “look out, Josh, that fellow iz taking your meazzure.”