Fumbling For A Word Is Everybody's Birthright.

I Conclude That There Is As Much Sense In Nonsense As There Is Nonsense In Sense.

Well, Well, Well, Well. If It Isn't Fat, Stinking Billygoat Billy-boy In Poison. How Art Thou, Thou Globby Bottle Of Cheap, Stinking Chip-oil? Come And Get One In The Yarbles, If You Have Any Yarbles, You Eunuch Jelly Thou.

This Truth May Be Handled Either Sinfully Or Profitably; Sinfully As When It Is Treated On Only To Satisfy Curiosity, And To Keep Up A Mere Barren Speculative Dispute.... This Point Of Election... Is Not To Be Agitated In A Verbal And Contentious Way, But In A Saving Way, To Make Us Tremble And To Set Us Upon A More Diligent And Close Striving With God In Prayer, And All Other Duties.

It May Not Be Nice To Be Good, Little 6655321. It May Be Horrible To Be Good. And When I Say That To You I Realize How Self-contradictory That Sounds. I Know I Shall Have Many Sleepless Nights About This. What Does God Want? Does God Want Goodness Or The Choice Of Goodness? Is A Man Who Chooses The Bad Perhaps In Some Way Better Than A Man Who Has The Good Imposed Upon Him? Deep And Hard Questions, Little 6655321.

Blockbusting Fiction Is Bought As Furniture. Unread, It Maintains Its Value. Read, It Looks Like Money Wasted. Cunningly, Americans Know That Books Contain A Person, And They Want The Person, Not The Book.