[…] sooner, may all the Material World crumble into Incoherent Atoms, or relapse into the Abyss of Nothingness, than that any Conclusion, thus deduced, can be False […]

Our man knew her enough to know she was a sea of flesh, unsightly badly drawn slag tags and a cheap dress two sizes too small.

rabbit-proof wiring

Would thy Melancholy have a cure? thou shalt laugh at Democritus himselfe, and but reading one piece of this Comick variety, finde thy exalted fancie in Elizium; And when thou art sick of this cure, (for the excesse of delight may too much dilate thy soule,) thou shalt meete almost in every leafe a soft purling passion or spring of sorrow so powerfully wrought high by the teares of innocence, and wronged Lovers, it shall persuade thy eyes to weepe into the streame, and yet smile when they contribute to their owne ruines.