Life Is Agid, Life Is Fulgid. Life

The Lore Of Our Fathers Is A Fabric Of Sentences. In Our Hands It Develops And Changes, Through More Or Less Arbitrary And Deliberate Revisions And Additions Of Our Own, More Or Less Directly Occasioned By The Continuing Stimulation Of Our Sense Organs. It Is A Pale Gray Lore, Black With Fact And White With Convention. But I Have Found No Substantial Reasons For Concluding That There Are Any Quite Black Threads In It, Or Any White Ones.

Wyman's Overpopulated Universe Is In Many Ways Unlovely. It Offends The Aesthetic Sense Of Us Who Have A Taste For Desert Landscapes.

If Pressed To Supplement Tweedledee's Ostensive Definition Of Logic With A Discursive Definition Of The Same Subject, I Would Say That Logic Is The Systematic Study Of The Logical Truths. Pressed Further, I Would Say That A Sentence Is Logically True If All Sentences With Its Grammatical Structure Are True. Pressed Further Still, I Would Say To Read This Book.

No Two Of Us Learn Our Language Alike, Nor, In A Sense, Does Any Finish Learning It While He Lives.

One Man's Antinomy Is Another Man's Falsidical Paradox, Give Or Take A Couple Of Thousand Years.