I See A Poem As A Multi-coloured

The Whole Plan Hinged Upon The Natural Curiosity Of Potatoes.

A Specialist Is A Barbarian Whose Ignorance Is Not Well-rounded.

Man's Quest For Knowledge Is An Expanding Series Whose Limit Is Infinity, But Philosophy Seeks To Attain That Limit At One Blow, By A Short Circuit Providing The Certainty Of Complete And Inalterable Truth. Science Meanwhile Advances At Its Gradual Pace, Often Slowing To A Crawl, And For Periods It Even Walks In Place, But Eventually It Reaches The Various Ultimate Trenches Dug By Philosophical Thought, And, Quite Heedless Of The Fact That It Is Not Supposed To Be Able To Cross Those Final Barriers To The Intellect, Goes Right On.

Seduced, Shaggy Samson Snored. She Scissored Short. Sorely Shorn, Soon Shackled Slave, Samson Sighed, Silently Scheming, Sightlessly Seeking Some Savage, Spectacular Suicide.

Our Ability To Adapt And Therefore To Accept Everything Is One Of Our Greatest Dangers. Creatures That Are Completely Flexible, Changeable, Can Have No Fixed Morality.