'It's this accursed Science,' I cried. 'It's the very Devil. The mediaeval priests and persecutors were right, and the Moderns are all wrong. You tamper with it-and it offers you gifts. And directly you take them it knocks you to pieces in some unexpected way.'
He that thinks amiss, concludes worse.
Grief melts away Like snow in May, As if there were no such cold thing.
A little given seasonably excuses a great gift.
There's no such conquering weapon as the necessity of conquering.
Not a long day, but a good heart rids worke.