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Eleanor Roosevelt–


Great minds discuss ideas.

Average minds discuss events.

Small minds discuss people.

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The Right Kind of People


Poem by Edwin Markham, 1832 – 1940 A few years ago while perusing a book of American Poetry, I happened upon this poem which has stuck with me since. I recently took the time to find out who Edwin Markham was, and it turns out he is an alum of San Jose State, at the time called San Jose Normal School and eventually San Jose State Teachers College. More information can be obtained about Mr. Markham at

Gone is the city, gone the day,

Yet still the story and the meaning stay:

Once where a prophet in the palm shade basked

A traveler chanced at noon to rest his miles.

“What sort of people may they be,” he asked,

“In this proud city on the plains o’erspread?”

“Well, friend, what sort of people whence you came?”

“What sort?” the packman scowled; “why knaves and fools.”

“You’ll find the people here the same,” the wise man said.

Another stranger in the dusk drew near,

And pausing, cried “What sort of people here

In your bright city where yon towers arise?”

“Well, friend, what sort of people whence you came?”

“What sort?” the pilgrim smiled, “Good, true and wise.”

“You’ll find the people here the same,” The wise man said.

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If, by Rudyard Kipling


Always an inspiration:

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

but make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream–and not make dreams your master;

If you can think–and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with triumph and disaster

And treat those two imposters just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,

And stoop and build ‘em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings–nor lose the common touch;

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run–

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And–which is more–you’ll be a Man, my son!

—Rudyard Kipling

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