It made of a puny Corsican the Ruler of the World.
It made of a thin-chested bookkeeper the money king of his age.
It made of Edison the great man of a great country.
It made Carnegie. It made Woodrow Wilson. It made Roosevelt.
It can make you.
And it is now in your soul. Awake it now. "That Something."
"No, it can't be done, it can't be done," murmured the professor. "I have drunk deeply of the cup of life, and I am now drinking of the dregs. The cup is filled but once, and when it's gone there's nothing left but old age and poverty."
"You fool," cried Randolph, leaning forward and shaking the little man roughly. "You almost had That Something within your power, and now you sing it back to sleep with your silly song of pessimism. It's the false philosophy, that such as you sing, which has kept men in the ruts of their own digging for centuries past.
Wake man, wake That Something within your soul."
—W. W. Woodbridge