Thy Decay's Still Impregnate With

I Deny Nothing, But Doubt Everything.

Critics Are Already Made.

I Have No Consistency, Except In Politics; And That Probably Arises From My Indifference To The Subject Altogether.

But I Hate Things All Fiction... There Should Always Be Some Foundation Of Fact For The Most Airy Fabric - And Pure Invention Is But The Talent Of A Liar.

I Suppose We Shall Soon Travel By Air-vessels; Make Air Instead Of Sea Voyages; And At Length Find Our Way To The Moon, In Spite Of The Want Of Atmosphere.