Thought Is The Parent Of The Deed.

A Man Must Indeed Be A Hero To Appear Such In The Eyes Of His Valet.

We Arc The Miracle Of Miracles, The Great Inscrutable Mystery Of God.

Superstition! That Horrid Incubus Which Dwelt In Darkness, Shunning The Light, With All Its Racks, And Poison Chalices, And Foul Sleeping Draughts, Is Passing Away Without Return. Religion Cannot Pass Away. The Burning Of A Little Straw May Hide The Stars Of The Sky; But The Stars Are There And Will Reappear.

Speech Is Human, Silence Is Divine, Yet Also Brutish And Dead: Therefore We Must Learn Both Arts.

A Frightful Dialect For The Stupid, The Pedant And Dullard Sort.