The literature of science is filled with answers found when the question propounded had an entirely different direction and end.

Good God, what a mess of draggle-tail impulses a man is--and a woman too, I guess.

Some days are born ugly. From the very first light they are no damn good what ever the weather, and everbody knows it. No one knows what causes this, but on such a day people resist getting out of bed and set their heels against the day. When they are finally forced out by hunger or job they find that the day is just as lousy as they knew it would be.

Within that frame he went a long way and burned a deep scar.

It seems to me that if you or I must choose between two courses of thought or action, we should remember our dying and try so to live that our death brings no pleasure on the world.

There's a responsibility in being a person. It's more than just taking up space where air would be.

Riches seem to come to the poor in spirit, the poor in interest and joy. To put it straight - the very rich are a poor bunch of bastards