When a cat is dropped, it always lands on its feet. When toast is dropped, it always lands butter-side-down. I propose to strap buttered toast to the back of a cat, butter facing up. The two will hover, spinning, inches above the ground. With a giant buttered-toast/cat array, a high-speed monorail could easily link New York with Chicago.
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Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We would not dare to conceive the things which are really merely commonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange coincidences, the planning, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chain of events, working through generations and leading to the most outer results, it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable.
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Do not hover always on the surface of things, nor take up suddenly, with mere appearances; but penetrate into the depth of matters, as far as your time and circumstances allow, especially in those things which relate to your profession.
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Do not hover always on the surface of things, nor take up suddenly, with mere appearances but penetrate into the depth of matters, as far as your time and circumstances allow, especially in those things which relate to your profession.
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Of all the barbarous middle ages, that which is most barbarous is the middle age of man! it is -- I really scarce know what; but when we hover between fool and sage, and don't know justly what we would be at -- a period something like a printed page, black letter upon foolscap, while our hair grows grizzled, and we are not what we were.
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Of all the barbarous middle ages, that which is most barbarous is the middle age of man! it is - I really scarce know what; but when we hover between fool and sage, and don't know justly what we would be at - a period something like a printed page, b
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