In This Mortal Life, Nothing Is Blessed

If In Your Soil It Takes, To Heaven A Thousand Thousand Thanks Be Given; And Say With France, It Goodly Goes, Where The Pantagruelion Grows.

The Lord Forbid That I Should Be Out Of Debt, As If Indeed I Could Not Be Trusted.

Science Without Conscience Is The Soul's Perdition.

For God, Nothing Is Impossible. And, If He Wanted, In The Future Women Would Give Birth From Their Ears.

Oh Thrice And Four Times Happy... Those Who Plant Cabbages.