Superstition Is, Always Has Been, And Forever

In My Judgment, The Deists Were All Successfully Answered. The God Of Nature Is Certainly As Bad As The God Of The Old Testament. It Is Only When We Discard The Idea Of A Deity, The Idea Of Cruelty Or Goodness In Nature, That We Are Able Ever To Bear With Patience The Ills Of Life. I Feel That I Am Neither A Favorite Nor A Victim. Nature Neither Loves Nor Hates Me.

There Is Only One Way To Be Happy, And That Is To Make Somebody Else So, And You Cannot Be Happy By Going Cross Lots; You Have Got To Go The Regular Turnpike Road.

It Is Perfectly Delightful To Take Advantage Of The Conscientious Labors Of Those Who Go Through And Through Volume After Volume, Divide With Infinite Patience The Gold From The Dross, And Present Us With The Pure And Shining Coin. Such Men May Be Likened To Bees Who Save Us Numberless Journeys By Giving Us The Fruit Of Their Own.

I Have Always Noticed That The People Who Have The Smallest Souls Make The Most Fuss About Getting Them Saved.

Where Is The Soul? . . . I Refuse To Believe Anything Of That Kind Without Proof. The Idea That, As Soon As A Man's Breath Leaves His Body, The Soul Flops Out Like A Chicken's Head And Flies Off Into Space To Find A Lodgment Where There [are] Harps And Haloes. Too Much For Me.