These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i' th' alehouse.

You undergo too strict a paradox, Striving to make an ugly deed look fair.

The mind begins to boggle at unnatural substances as things paradoxical and incomprehensible.

For thence,--a paradox Which comforts while it mocks,-- Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me: A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale.

I would rather be a man of paradoxes than a man of prejudices.

If the Universe came to an end every time there was some uncertainty about what had happened in it, it would never have got beyond the first picosecond. And many of course don't. It's like a human body, you see. A few cuts and bruises here and there don't hurt it. Not even major surgery if it's done properly. Paradoxes are just the scar tissue. Time and space heal themselves up around them and people simply remember a version of events which makes as much sense as they require it to make.