Chance, My Dear, Is The Sovereign Deity

This Coffee Falls Into Your Stomach, And Straightway There Is A General Commotion. Ideas Begin To Move Like The Battalions Of The Grand Army Of The Battlefield, And The Battle Takes Place. Things Remembered Arrive At Full Gallop, Ensuing To The Wind. The Light Cavalry Of Comparisons Deliver A Magnificent Deploying Charge, The Artillery Of Logic Hurry Up With Their Train And Ammunition, The Shafts Of With Start Up Like Sharpshooters. Similes Arise, The Paper Is Covered With Ink; For The Struggle Commences And Is Concluded With Torrents Of Black Water, Just As A Battle With Powder.

No Man Should Marry Until He Has Studied Anatomy And Dissected At Least One Woman.

No Society Is Complete Without Some Victim, A Creature To Pity, To Jeer At, To Scorn Or To Protect.

Conscience Is Our Unerring Judge Until We Finally Stifle It.

Passions Are No More Forgiving Than Human Laws And They Reason More Justly. Are They Not Based On A Conscience Of Their Own, Infallible As An Instinct?