The Only Truly Consistent Are The Dead.

Religion Is Always A Patron Of The Arts, But Its Taste Is By No Means Impeccable.

Everybody Strains After Happiness, And The Result Is That Nobody's Happy.

One Right-thinking Man Thinks Like All Other Right-thinking Men Of His Time That Is To Say, In Most Cases, Like Some Wrong-thinking Man Of Another Time.

At This Point We Find Ourselves Confronted By A Very Disquieting Question: Do We Really Wish To Act Upon Our Knowledge?

Pully, Hauly, Tug With A Will; The Gods Wiggle Waggle, But The Sky Stands Still.