The Socratic Manner Is Not

There Is Laughter That Goes So Far As To Lose All Touch With Its Motive, And To Exist Only, Grossly, In Itself. This Is Laughter At Its Best. A Man To Whom Such Laughter Has Often Been Granted May Happen To Die In A Work-house. No Matter. I Will Not Admit That He Has Failed In Life. Another Man, Who Has Never Laughed Thus, May Be Buried In Westminster Abbey, Leaving More Than A Million Pounds Overhead. What Then? I Regard Him As A Failure.

But To Die Of Laughter--this, Too, Seems To Me A Great Euthanasia.

I Believe The Twenty-four Hour Day Has Come To Stay.

History Does Not Repeat Itself. The Historians Repeat One Another.

It Is A Fact That Not Once In All My Life Have I Gone Out For A Walk. I Have Been Taken Out For Walks; But That Is Another Matter.