The soul of another is wrapped in darkness.

As regards plots I find real life no help at all. Real life seems to
have no plots. And as I think plots desirable and almost necessary, I
have this extra grudge against life.

Push out the jive,
bring in the love.

Love demands everything, and that very justly.

Behind every great fortune lies a crime.

In a man's life,
his time is but a moment, his being a mere flux,
his senses a dim glimpse, his body food for the worms,
and his soul a restless eddy…
the things of the body pass like a flowing stream;
life is a brief sojourn;
and one's mark in this world
is soon forgotten.

The classic/smart play is to check it and try to represent that I'm on a draw. Fifth street comes and somebody bets, I come over the top, and I get paid off nicely. Of course, I get greedy, like a dumb bastard, and I make the max bet, two dollars, and everybody folds. No fifth street and no fifth street betting. 

Propaganda is to a democracy what the bludgeon is to a totalitarian state.