I like how Johannes Kepler thought. I like his wife, too.

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Yesterday, when weary with writing, I was called to supper, and a salad I had asked for was set before me by my wife. "It seems, then," I said, "if pewter dishes, leaves of lettuce, grains of salt, drops of water, vinegar, oil, and slices of eggs had been flying about in the air from all eternity, it might at least happen by chance that a salad would finally appear." "Yes," responded my lovely, "but not so nice as this one of mine."

— Johannes Kepler