Hypotheses Are Lullabies For Teachers To Sing

He Who Would Reproach An Author For Obscurity Should Look Into His Own Mind To See Whether It Is Quite Clear There. In The Dusk The Plainest Writing Is Illegible.

He Who Enjoys Doing And Enjoys What He Has Done Is Happy.

Thinking Is More Interesting Than Knowing, But Less Interesting Than Looking.

The Longer I Live, The More It Grieves Me To See Man, Who Occupies His Supreme Place For The Very Purpose Of Imposing His Will Upon Nature, And Freeing Himself And His From An Outrageous Necessity--to See Him Taken Up With Some False Notion, And Doing Just The Opposite Of What He Wants To Do; And Then, Because The Whole Bent Of His Mind Is Spoilt, Bungling Miserably Over Everything.

Nature! We Are Enveloped And Embraced By Her, Incapable Of Emerging From Her And Incapable Of Entering Her More Deeply. Unbidden And Unwarned, She Receives Us Into The Circuits Of Her Dance, Drifting Onward With Us Herself, Until We Grow Tired And Drop From Her Arms.