Every tub sits on its bottom.
Folklore is the boiled-down juice, or pot-likker, of human living.
When I pitched headforemost into the world I landed in the crib of Negroism.
To a haughty belly, kindness is hard to swallow and harder to digest.
There is a basin in the mind where words float around on thought and thought on sound and sight. Then there is a depth of thought untouched by words, and deeper still a gulf of formless feelings untouched by thought.
Research is formalized curiosity. It is poking and prying with a purpose. It is a seeking that he who wishes may know the cosmic secrets of the world and they that dwell therein.