Let Us Leave The Cure Of Public

Thanks To The Toleration Preached By The Encyclopedists Of The Eighteenth Century, The Sorcerer Is Exempt From Torture.

Love May Be The Fairest Gem Which Society Has Filched From Nature; But What Is Motherhood Save Nature In Her Most Gladsome Mood? A Smile Has Dried My Tears.

What A Thing Of Fantasy A Woman May Become After Dusk.

Ideas Devour The Ages As Men Are Devoured By Their Passions. When Man Is Cured, Human Nature Will Cure Itself Perhaps.

This Coffee Falls Into Your Stomach, And Straightway There Is A General Commotion. Ideas Begin To Move Like The Battalions Of The Grand Army Of The Battlefield, And The Battle Takes Place. Things Remembered Arrive At Full Gallop, Ensuing To The Wind. The Light Cavalry Of Comparisons Deliver A Magnificent Deploying Charge, The Artillery Of Logic Hurry Up With Their Train And Ammunition, The Shafts Of With Start Up Like Sharpshooters. Similes Arise, The Paper Is Covered With Ink; For The Struggle Commences And Is Concluded With Torrents Of Black Water, Just As A Battle With Powder.