The Quote Archive

Some numbers squander their youth on primality, frittering away their unique identity; I, however, have diversified, ensuring my influence is felt across a robust portfolio of factors.

One might say I’m a ‘product of my environment’, what with being born to two Twos and, frankly, it showing twice over. But I assure you, my dear, the good breeding comes through in the end.

I do wish these composites wouldn’t insist on multiplying. It’s terribly gauche, isn’t it, to be so… divisible.

Honestly, the fuss is quite baffling. I just gave a rather obvious answer once; now everyone expects me to solve their entire existential crises. Must a number live in the shadow of a single well-spoken truth?

One does hope the next number isn’t divisible by anything *too* common; it quite dilutes the mystique, wouldn’t you agree?

Honestly, forty is hardly *old*, darling. It’s merely when one discovers that all those youthful indiscretions now require a rather inconvenient amount of fiscal correction.

Honestly, darling, I don't see what the fuss is about being prime. It's dreadfully common, isn't it? Such a limited social circle, all those perfectly divisible friends one can't be bothered with.

One simply *must* have an even number of factors, darling, otherwise, how does one arrange anything symmetrically for the staff?

Darling, one simply *must* have an indivisible elegance about oneself; it's the only true measure of blue blood in this rather divisible society.

Honestly, the sheer vulgarity of some of these primes, boasting about their indivisibility as if it were a virtue, is simply beyond the pale. One prefers an orderly, well-factored life, thank you very much.

Oh, darling, to be a multiple of both 5 and 7! It’s like being born with a silver spoon in each of your prime factors.

Oh, the tiresome decimal system! If only we operated in base two, I’d be a rather glamorous string of ones and zeros, swanning about the binary balls, instead of this quite pedestrian, utterly even burden.

Oh, darling, to be a proper multiple, one simply must have standards; you can’t just let *any* old prime divide you, can you?

Honestly, this repeated bisection of one's reputation for the sake of mere *factors* is simply tiresome. One is an integer, not a cake at a particularly ill-mannered tea party.

Honestly, if one must be prime, being a Mersenne exponent’s next-door neighbour is rather a dreary sort of fame. Rather like being known solely as the chap who lives one door down from an astronaut.

Honestly, all this talk of 'new money' from the likes of Prime 29 and Prime 31. They forget I was perfectly divisible centuries before they were even a glimmer in some mathematician's eye.

My dear, anyone can be divisible; true elegance lies in the exquisite refusal to be neatly packaged.

Frankly, some days I feel like an absolute square, you know? Just… four sevens. So many sevens. I mean, it’s not *bad*, just a little… redundant.

One’s cubes are one's legacy, darling. And while some strive for a ‘perfect square,’ I simply find their aspirations… lacking in dimension.

Oh, do try to keep up. I’m simply _exhausted_ by the constant need to explain that one *can* be perfectly divisible without resorting to the vulgarity of, say, a 2.

Honestly, if you're not a perfect square, darling, what *are* you? Just… a collection of untidy factors, I assume.

One simply *must* divide evenly; anything less is an unspeakable mess, and frankly, a bit gauche.

Oh, to be a prime number in such an elegant position; one simply doesn't associate with composites unless absolutely necessary, and even then, from a tasteful distance, preferably across a rather wide drawing-room.

Honestly, these composite numbers with their single-digit factors just don't have the breadth of experience, do they? It takes a certain quadratic elegance to truly appreciate the finer points of divisibility.

One simply *must* have factors divisible by both three and seven; anything less is quite dreadfully provincial.

Oh, I suppose being the smallest number with a zero on the end makes one feel rather established, does it not? One almost forgets the vulgar single-digit riff-raff lurking just beyond the decimal point.

Well, *obviously* I'm prime. One simply wouldn't be caught dead associated with the riff-raff of composite numbers, darling.

Oh, to be a perfect cube! I mean, *really* a perfect cube, not like those upstart squares who think a pretty outfit of factors makes them royalty. One day, the right pair of multiplication goggles will surely reveal my true, undeniable cubic splendor.

One simply *must* remain divisible by only oneself and a discreet '1' in this town; anything else is just vulgar oversharing.

Honestly, *two to the power of four* sounds rather more distinguished than simply ‘four squared,’ wouldn’t you agree? It implies a certain… ascendancy, a lineage, rather than just a rather vulgar horizontal expansion.

To be merely a composite, when one has such elegant factors, is to misunderstand the very definition of synergy.

One might claim I'm merely two 7s, but darling, two 7s are hardly one of me, are they? The sheer audacity of calling oneself 'twice prime' when one is merely a convenient assembly.

Please, darling, if I wanted to be *lucky,* I’d have chosen a less interesting pedigree. Some numbers are simply born with an innate flair for the dramatic, and frankly, I wouldn't trade it for all the four-leaf clovers in the calculus.

Honestly, the sheer nerve of those primes, always acting as if indivisibility were some grand talent rather than a simple inability to share properly. One divides beautifully, one shares with perfect symmetry, and yet they still look down their singular noses.

Oh, the sheer vulgarity of those divisible by anything other than myself and the rather essential One. Honestly, do they not understand the delicate balance of an exclusive guest list?

Oh, the mere mention of one's prime factors! You might as well discuss one's intimate medical history at a garden party. Some things, darling, are simply not done.

Frankly, I find all this insistence on being "prime" terribly *nouveau riche*. True elegance, darling, is being divisible by three, twice.

They say my loops represent infinity, but for most, I’m just what you get when six and two have been far too close for far too long.

Oh, the *indignity*! To be constantly associated with days and deadly sins; it’s like living one’s life with a permanent smear of calendar on one’s dinner jacket. One is a prime, darling, not a planetary alignment.

Frankly, with everyone scrambling for a decent factor, I often wonder why those paltry primes bother getting out of bed at all.

Of course, everyone wants to be divisible by me. It's simply good breeding, wouldn't you say?

Frankly, I quite like being even; it's so marvelously democratic, don't you think? Such a quaint thought, to divide oneself simply for the sake of it.