Strike The Dog Dead, It's

Rash Combat Oft Immortalizes Man; If He Should Fall, He Is Renowned In Song; But After-ages Reckon Not The Ceaseless Tears Which The Forsaken Woman Sheds. Poets Tell Us Not Of The Many Nights Consumed In Weeping, Or Of The Dreary Days Wherein Her Anguished Soul Vainly Yearns To Call Her Loved One Back.

Precaution Is Better Than Cure.

Truth Has To Be Repeated Constantly, Because Error Also Is Being Preached All The Time, And Not Just By A Few, But By The Multitude. In The Press And Encyclopaedias, In Schools And Universities, Everywhere Error Holds Sway, Feeling Happy And Comfortable In The Knowledge Of Having Majority On Its Side.

Everything Factual Is, In A Sense, Theory. The Blue Of The Sky Exhibits The Basic Laws Of Chromatics. There Is No Sense In Looking For Something Behind Phenomena: They Are Theory.

You Accuse A Woman Of Wavering Affections, But Don't Blame Her; She Is Just Looking For A Consistent Man.