Mathematics Is Purely Hypothetical: It Produces Nothing

It Is The Man Of Science, Eager To Have His Every Opinion Regenerated, His Every Idea Rationalized, By Drinking At The Fountain Of Fact, And Devoting All The Energies Of His Life To The Cult Of Truth, Not As He Understands It, But As He Does Not Yet Understand It, That Ought Properly To Be Called A Philosopher.

We May Say That Feelings Have Two Kinds Of Intensity. One Is The Intensity Of The Feeling Itself, By Which Loud Sounds Are Distinguished From Faint Ones, Luminous Colors From Dark Ones, Highly Chromatic Colors From Almost Neutral Tints, Etc. The Other Is The Intensity Of Consciousness That Lays Hold Of The Feeling, Which Makes The Ticking Of A Watch Actually Heard Infinitely More Vivid Than A Cannon Shot Remembered To Have Been Heard A Few Minutes Ago.

There Never Was A Sounder Logical Maxim Of Scientific Procedure Than Ockham's Razor: Entia Non Sunt Multiplicanda Praeter Necessitatem. That Is To Say; Before You Try A Complicated Hypothesis, You Should Make Quite Sure That No Simplification Of It Will Explain The Facts Equally Well.

It Has Never Been In My Power To Study Anything, Mathematics, Ethics, Metaphysics, Gravitation, Thermodynamics, Optics, Chemistry, Comparative Anatomy, Astronomy, Psychology, Phonetics, Economics, The History Of Science, Whist, Men And Women, Wine, Metrology, Except As A Study Of Semeiotic .

The Universe Ought To Be Presumed Too Vast To Have Any Character.