I Believe Nothing Of My Own That

When We Come Upon Assurances That A Mystery Has Been Solved, We Go On Investigating.

The Ideal State Is Meekness, Or Humility, Or The Semi-invalid State Of The Old. Year After Year I Am Becoming Nobler And Nobler. If I Can Live To Be Decrepit Enough, I Shall Be A Saint.

Sometimes I Am A Collector Of Data, And Only A Collector, And Am Likely To Be Gross And Miserly, Piling Up Notes, Pleased With Merely Numerically Adding To My Stores.

The Fate Of All Explanation Is To Close One Door Only To Have Another Fly Wide Open.

One Can't Be Of An Enquiring And Experimental Nature, And Still Be Very Sensible.