It Is Bad Taste For A Poet

By Words The Mind Is Winged.

Only By Being Suspended Aloft, By Dangling My Mind In The Heavens And Mingling My Rare Thought With The Ethereal Air, Could I Ever Achieve Strict Scientific Accuracy In My Survey Of The Vast Empyrean. Had I Pursued My Inquiries From Down There On The Ground, My Data Would Be Worthless. The Earth, You See, Pulls Down The Delicate Essence Of Thought To Its Own Gross Level.

Comedy Is Allied To Justice.

Meton (astronomer In 5th Century Bc): With The Straight Ruler I Set To Work To Make The Circle Four-cornered .

Prayers Without Wine Are Perfectly Pointless.