No gun is perfectly true. So the marksman, that he may hit the bull's-eye, points elsewhere.

A man's own addition to what he learns is cement to bind an otherwise loose heap of stones into a structure of unity, strength, and use.

Nature is full of by-ends. A moth feeds on a petal, in a moment the pollen caught on its breast will be wedding this blossom to another in the next county.

Degree is much: the whole Atlantic might be lukewarm and never boil us a potato.

Form may be of more account than substance. A lens of ice will focus a solar beam to a blaze.

We despair of changing the habits of men, still we would alter institutions, the habits of millions of men.

A superstition is a premature explanation that overstays its time.