Mere Imagination Would Indeed Be Mere Trifling;

If Man Were Immortal He Could Be Perfectly Sure Of Seeing The Day When Everything In Which He Had Trusted Should Betray His Trust, And, In Short, Of Coming Eventually To Hopeless Misery. He Would Break Down, At Last, As Every Good Fortune, As Every Dynasty, As Every Civilization Does. In Place Of This We Have Death.

Truth Is That Concordance Of An Abstract Statement With The Ideal Limit Towards Which Endless Investigation Would Tend To Bring Scientific Belief, Which Concordance The Abstract Statement May Possess By Virtue Of The Confession Of Its Inaccuracy And One-sidedness, And This Confession Is An Essential Ingredient Of Truth.

I Define A Sign As Anything Which Is So Determined By Something Else, Called Its Object, And So Determines An Effect Upon A Person, Which Effect I Call Its Interpretant, That The Latter Is Thereby Mediately Determined By The Former.

If We Are To Define Science, ... It Does Not Consist So Much In Knowing, Nor Even In "organized Knowledge," As It Does In Diligent Inquiry Into Truth For Truth's Sake, Without Any Sort Of Axe To Grind, Nor For The Sake Of The Delight Of Contemplating It, But From An Impulse To Penetrate Into The Reason Of Things.

If Man Were Immortal He Could Be Perfectly Sure Of Seeing The Day When Everything In Which He Had Trusted Should Betray His Trust.