It Is The Wretchedness Of

Uncultivated Minds Are Not Full Of Wild Flowers, Like Uncultivated Fields. Villainous Weeds Grow In Them And They Are The Haunt Of Toads.

It Is Through The Cracks In Our Brains That Ecstasy Creeps In.

How It Infuriates A Bigot, When He Is Forced To Drag Out His Dark Convictions!

I Am One Of The Unpraised, Unrewarded Millions Without Whom Statistics Would Be A Bankrupt Science. It Is We Who Are Born, Who Marry, Who Die, In Constant Ratios.

I Can't Forgive My Friends For Dying; I Don't Find These Vanishing Acts Of Theirs At All Amusing.