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To keep shooting at a folly after it is dead is unsportsmanlike.
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There is no absurdity in its mental processes; all that is concealed in its assumptions.
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The trouble with facts is that there are so many of them.
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A prose writer gets tired of writing prose, and wants to be a poet. So he begins every line with a capital letter, and keeps on writing prose.
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We sometimes speak of stubborn facts. Nonsense! A fact is a mere babe when compared with a stubborn theory.
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Try as hard as we may for perfection, the net result of our labors is an amazing variety of imperfectness. We are surprised at our own versatility in being able to fail in so many different ways.