It Is Unworthy Of Excellent Men To

There Is Nothing Waste, Nothing Sterile, Nothing Dead In The Universe; No Chaos, No Confusions, Save In Appearance.

All The Different Classes Of Beings Which Taken Together Make Up The Universe Are, In The Ideas Of God Who Knows Distinctly Their Essential Gradations, Only So Many Ordinates Of A Single Curve So Closely United That It Would Be Impossible To Place Others Between Any Two Of Them, Since That Would Imply Disorder And Imperfection. Thus Men Are Linked With The Animals, These With The Plants And These With The Fossils Which In Turn Merge With Those Bodies Which Our Senses And Our Imagination Represent To Us As Absolutely Inanimate.

According To Their [newton And His Followers] Doctrine, God Almighty Wants To Wind Up His Watch From Time To Time: Otherwise It Would Cease To Move. He Had Not, It Seems, Sufficient Foresight To Make It A Perpetual Motion. Nay, The Machine Of God's Making, So Imperfect, According To These Gentlemen; That He Is Obliged To Clean It Now And Then By An Extraordinary Concourse, And Even To Mend It, As Clockmaker Mends His Work.

Music Is Nothing But Unconscious Arithmetic.

The Art Of Discovering The Causes Of Phenomena, Or True Hypotheses, Is Like The Art Of Deciphering, In Which An Ingenious Conjecture Often Greatly Shortens The Road.