Yesterday, when weary with writing, and my mind quite dusty with
considering these atoms, I was called to supper, and a salad I had asked
for was set before me. "It seems, then," said I aloud, "that if pewter
dishes, leaves of lettuce, grains of salt, drops of vinegar and oil, and
slices of eggs, had been floating about in the air from all eternity, it
might at last happen by chance that there would come a salad." "Yes,"
says my wife, "but not so nice and well dressed as this of mine
is!"--KEPLER, _apud_ Tait and Stewart, _Paradoxical Philosophy_.
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