Once Sex Rears Its Ugly 'ead It's

There Are Only Two Kinds Of Men Who Become Dentists. The Ones Who Love It And Ones Who Get Miserable. Think Round And You'll See I'm Right.

The Optimism Of A Healthy Mind Is Indefatigable.

Chemists Employed By The Police Can Do Remarkable Things With Blood. They Can Weave It Into A Rope To Hang A Man.

He Did Not Arrive At This Conclusion By The Decent Process Of Quiet, Logical Deduction, Nor Yet By The Blinding Flash Of Glorious Intuition, But By The Shoddy, Untidy Process Halfway Between The Two By Which One Usually Gets To Know Things.

The Relationship Between The Two Men Was Something Of A Miracle In Itself. It Was A Cordiality Based, Apparently, On Complete Non-comprehension Cemented By A Deep Mutual Respect For The Utterly Unknown. No Two Men Saw Less Eye To Eye And The Result Was Unexpected Harmony, As If A Dog And A Fish Had Mysteriously Become Friends And Were Proud Each Of The Other's Remarkable Dissimilarity To Himself.