Without God There Is For Mankind No

For Sleep, Riches And Health To Be Truly Enjoyed And Gratefully Appreciated, They Must Be Interrupted So The Person Can See That Not Having Them Is Not As Good As Having Them.

Romanticism Is Beauty Without Bounds-the Beautiful Infinite.

Humankind's Chief Fault Is That They Have So Many Small Ones.

Joy Descends Gently Upon Us Like The Evening Dew, And Does Not Patter Down Like A Hailstorm.

I Would Rather Dwell In The Dim Fog Of Superstition Than In Air Rarefied To Nothing By The Air-pump Of Unbelief-in Which The Panting Breast Expires, Vainly And Convulsively Gasping For Breath.