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.

A Slave Is But Half A Man.

I Saw A Cavalry Captain Buy Vegetable Soup On Horseback. He Carried The Whole Mess Home In His Helmet.

Old Age Is But A Second Childhood.

Old Age Is Second Childhood.