The Quality Of Life, Which

It Is Only When We Are Aware Of The Earth And Of The Earth As Poetry That We Truly Live.

When The Pleiades And The Wind In The Grass Are No Longer A Part Of The Human Spirit, A Part Of Very Flesh And Bone, Man Becomes, As It Were, A Kind Of Cosmic Outlaw, Having Neither The Completeness Nor Integrity Of The Animal Nor The Birthright Of A True Humanity.

Poetry Is As Necessary To Comprehension As Science. It Is As Impossible To Live Without Reverence As It Is Without Joy.

We Of The Age Of The Machines, Having Delivered Ourselves Of Nocturnal Enemies, Now Have A Dislike Of Night Itself. With Lights And Ever More Lights, We Drive The Holiness And Beauty Of Night Back To The Forests And The Sea.

Learn To Reverence Night And To Put Away The Vulgar Fear Of It.