The theory of the free press ...

The theory of the free press is not that the truth will be presented completely or perfectly in any one instance, but that the truth will emerge from free discussion
The theory of the free press is not that the truth will be presented completely or perfectly in any one instance, but that the truth will emerge from free discussion
 e. e. cummings

More phrases

Don't settle in the land of barely enough. That is where you are, it is not who you are. That's your location, it's not your identity. No matter what it looks like, have an abundant mentality.
The by-product is that they more people you help, the "richer" you become, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and definitely financially.
 T. Harv Eker
Happiness doesn't depend on any external conditions, it is governed by our mental attitude.
The truth is incontrovertible. Malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end, there it is.
To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.

Quotes from the same author

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
 E. E. Cummings
my sweet old etcetera aunt lucy during the recent war could and what is more did tell you just what everybody was fighting for, my sister isabel created hundreds (and hundreds) of socks not to mention shirts fleaproof earwarmers etcetera wristers etcetera, my mother hoped that i would die etcetera bravely of course my father used to become hoarse talking about how it was a privilege and if only he could meanwhile my self etcetera lay quietly in the deep mud et cetera (dreaming, et cetera, of Your smile eyes knees and of your Etcetera)
 e. e. cummings
It is with roses and locomotives (not to mention acrobats Spring electricity Coney Island the 4th of July the eyes of mice and Niagara Falls) that my poems are competing.
 e. e. cummings
if there are any heavens my mother will(all by herself)have one. It will not be a pansy heaven or a fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-valley but it will be a heaven of blackred roses my father will be(deep like a rose tall like a rose) standing near my swaying over her (silent) with eyes which are really petals and see nothing with the face of a poet really which is a flower and not a face with hands which whisper This is my beloved my (suddenly in sunlight he will bow, and the whole garden will bow)
 e. e. cummings
my mother hoped that i would die etcetera bravely of course my father used to become hoarse talking about how it was a privilege and if only he could
 e. e. cummings