A Mathematician Is Only Perfect

Children, Love One Another, And If That Is Not Possible-at Least Try To Put Up With One Another.

The Question "from Where Does The Poet Get It?" Addresses Only The What, Nobody Learns Anything About The How When Asking That Question.

The Passions Are Like Those Demons With Which Afrasahiab Sailed Down The Orus. Our Only Safety Consists In Keeping Them Asleep. If They We Are Lost.

All Of Us Have Life; Few Of Us Have An Idea Of It.

Reality Surpasses Imagination; And We See, Breathing, Brightening, And Moving Before Our Eyes Sights Dearer To Our Hearts Than Any We Ever Beheld In The Land Of Sleep.