My boy builds coffins with hammers and nails He doesn't build ships, he has no use for sails He doesn't make tables, dresses or chairs He can't carve a whistle cause he just doesn't care My boy builds coffins for the rich and the poor Kings and queens them all knocked on his door Beggars and liars, gypsies and thieves They all come to impact he's so eager to please.

My boy builds coffins he makes them all day But it's not just for work and it isn't for play He's made one for himself One for me too One of these days he'll make one for you.

Эти парни — молотки. А молоткам все кажутся гвоздями.

— Джерри Лэйн (Gerry Lane)

Бедняк и богач зависят друг от друга, богач не может существовать без бедняка.

— Ошо (Бхагван Шри Раджниш)

…Гвоздь, возвышающийся над доской, так и нарывается получить молотком.

— Эрнан Ривера Летельер