I feel overawed by quantity where counting no longer makes sense. By unrepeatability within such a quantity. By creatures of nature gathered in herds, droves, species, in which each individual, while subservient to the mass, retains some distinguishing features. A crowd of people, birds, insects, or leaves is a mysterious assemblage of variants of certain prototype. A riddle of nature's abhorrence of exact repetition or inability to produce it. Just as the human hand cannot repeat its own gesture, I invoke this disturbing law, switching my own immobile herds into that rhythm.
The furnace of affliction produces refinement, in states as well as individuals.
A committee is a thing which takes a week to do what one good man can do in an hour.
The real impediment to producing a higher-quality product more efficiently isn't the workers, union or nonunion, it's management.
It might be said that it is the ideal of the employer to have production without employees and the ideal of the employee is to have income without work.