It Was A Sunday Afternoon, Wet And

Mathematics Has Not A Foot To Stand Upon Which Is Not Purely Metaphysical.

Far Better, And More Cheerfully, I Could Dispense With Some Part Of The Downright Necessaries Of Life, Than With Certain Circumstances Of Elegance And Propriety In The Daily Habits Of Using Them.

As Is The Inventor Of Murder, And The Father Of Art, Cain Must Have Been A Man Of First-rate Genius.

A Promise Is Binding In The Inverse Ratio Of The Numbers To Whom It Is Made.

Many A Man Has Risen To Eminence Under The Powerful Reaction Of His Mind In Fierce Counter-agency To The Scorn Of The Unworthy, Daily Evoked By His Personal Defects, Who With A Handsome Person Would Have Sunk Into The Luxury Of A Careless Life Under The Tranquillizing Smiles Of Continual Admiration.