I am not fighting a hopeless fight. People who have fought in real fights don't, as a rule.

For there is good news yet to hear and fine things to be seen, Before we go to Paradise by way of Kensal Green.

My friends, we will not go again or ape an ancient rage,Or stretch the folly of our youth to be the shame of age,

The night we went to Birmingham by way of Beachy Head.

Before the Roman came to Rye or out to Severn strode, The rolling English drunkard made the rolling English road.

Men that are men again: Who goes home? Tocsin and trumpeter! Who goes home? For there's blood on the grass and blood on the foam, And blood on the body, when Man comes home. And a voice valedictory: Who is for victory? Who is for liberty? Who goes home?

In the city set upon slime and loam,They cry in their Parliament, "Who goes home?"And there comes no answer in arch or dome,For none in the city of graves goes home.Yet these shall perish and understand,For God has pity on this great land.

But since he stood for England And knew what England means, Unless you give him bacon You mustn’t give him beans.

The rich are the scum of the earth in every country.

There is no great harm in the theorist who makes up a new theory to fit a new event. But the theorist who starts with a false theory and then sees everything as making it come true is the most dangerous enemy of human reason.