[science Is] Piecemeal Revelation.

I Hate Facts. I Always Say The Chief End Of Man Is To Form General Propositions - Adding That No General Proposition Is Worth A Damn.

What Refuge Is There For The Victim Who Is Oppressed With The Feeling That There Are A Thousand New Books He Ought To Read, While Life Is Only Long Enough For Him To Attempt To Read A Hundred?

For Nothing Burns With Such Amazing Speed, As The Dry Sticks Of A Religious Creed.

Some People Are So Heavenly Minded That They Are No Earthly Good.

Me Wretched! Let Me Curr To Quercine Shades! Effund Your Albid Hausts, Lactiferous Maids! O, Might I Vole To Some Umbrageous Clump,-- Depart,--be Off,--excede,--evade,--erump!