“So, come all you young men. with your wicked, wicked ways. Sow your wild oats in your younger days. So that we may be happy when we grow old. Yes! happy and happy when we grow old. For the day's getting on and the night's getting long. Darling please gimme your arm and we'll joggle along, yes, we'll joggle and joggle and joggle along.”

“Being sorry won't get you into heaven. Get happy, son. Get that old spring into your step and stay on your toes.”

“Then in chat, or at play, with a dance, or a song,
Let the night, like the day, pass with pleasure along.
All cares, but of love, banish far from your mind;
And those you may end, when you please to be kind.”

“If we can stand up
When all else falls down,
We'll last through the winter.
We'll last through the storms.
We'll last through the north winds
That bring down the ice and snow.
We'll last through the long nights
Till the green field's growing again.
Growing again.”

“And there comes a time in your life when you realize that if you don't take the opportunity to be happy, you may never get another chance again.”

“The Beater has still been young enough to feel immortal, at least on his better days. It was all, Wow, if we don’t slow down, we’re gonna die before we get old, except somehow it hadn’t happened that way. So they’d all assumed it never would, not dying, not getting old—hell, not even growing up.”

“The greatest day in your life and mine is when we take total responsibility for our attitudes. That's the day we truly grow up.”

“We must have friendship for all; we must be merciful toward those that are in misery; when people are happy, we ought to be happy; and to the wicked we must be indifferent. These attitudes will make the mind peaceful.”

“Your captain is your mother and father. He will tell you when to eat and when to sleep. Listen to him. Make happy. And we will all see the land we are going to.”

“He was once our trumpeter, now his bugle's dumb,
Pile your arms beneath it, for the owlet light is come,
We'll wander through the roses where we marched of old with Peterkin,
We'll search the summer sunset where the Hybla beehives hum,
And — if we meet a fairy there — we'll ask for news of Peterkin.”