A Quote by Samuel Hopkins Adams

Printer's ink, when it spells out a doctor's promise to cure, is one of the subtlest and most dangerous of poisons. — © Samuel Hopkins Adams
Printer's ink, when it spells out a doctor's promise to cure, is one of the subtlest and most dangerous of poisons.
Why didn't Eternity have this deformed age aborted ? Its birthmark is the stamp of a newspaper, its medium is printer's ink, and in its veins flows ink.
My children were all made from paper and printer's ink.
The magic of the tongue is the most dangerous of all spells.
Printer's ink is the great apostle of progress, whose pulpit is the press.
Much has been said about the meanings we make of illness, but what about the meanings we make out of cure? Cure is complex, disorienting, a revisioning of the self, either subtle or stark. Cure is the new, strange planet, pressing in. The doctor could not have known. And that made me, as it does every patient, only more alone.
[Our lab uses] a desktop inkjet printer, but instead of using ink, we're using cells.
Whenever you are fed up with life, start writing: ink is the great cure for all human ills, as I have found out long ago.
I don't try to force-feed it or put any things on the images until I'm making a painting. It's not photorealism. Photorealism's goal is to reproduce a photograph. The best photorealism can't beat a printer, and I have a really nice printer. I don't want to go blind doing what a printer can do.
The world has been printing books for 450 years, and yet gunpowder still has a wider circulation. Never mind! Printer's ink is the greater explosive: it will win.
Printer's ink has been running a race against gunpowder these many, many years. Ink is handicapped, in a way, because you can blow up a man with gunpowder in half a second, while it may take twenty years to blow him up with a book. But the gunpowder destroys itself along with its victim, while a book can keep on exploding for centuries.
If a black doctor discovers a cure for cancer, ain't no hospital going to lock him out.
Ink is the great cure for all human ills.
For the subtlest folly proceeds from the subtlest wisdom.
The born-yesterday French-besotted faddists, addicted sniffers of wet printer's ink, think they're starting on the ground floor; so they're condemned to another hundred years of trial and error. The rest of us can safely ignore them.
We turn our backs on nature; we are ashamed of beauty. Our wretched tragedies have a smell of the office clinging to them, and the blood that trickles from them is the color of printer's ink.
I have sought you out to cure me.' 'To cure you of what?' 'Of this cursed affliction.' 'I cannot cure stupidity.' Scapegrace frowned.
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