Without civilization, we would not turn into animals, but vegetables.

A quiet fool can go undiscovered for a long time.

Posterity--the forlorn child of nineteenth century optimism--grows ever harder to conceive.

Sloth, not ill-will, makes me unjust.

Telescopes and binoculars endanger the ever-distant sublime.

The theme of my autobiography could only be repetition.

The aphorism wants to be at the same time both main line and off beat.