From The Solitude Of The

Lights Come And Go In The Night Sky. Men, Troubled At Last By The Things They Build, May Toss In Their Sleep And Dream Bad Dreams, Or Lie Awake While The Meteors Whisper Greenly Overhead. But Nowhere In All Space Or On A Thousand Worlds Will There Be Men To Share Our Loneliness.

If There Is Magic On This Planet, It Is Contained In Water.

We Are One Of Many Appearances Of The Thing Called Life; We Are Not Its Perfect Image, For It Has No Perfect Image Except Life, And Life Is Multitudinous And Emergent In The Stream Of Time.

This Is The Most Enormous Extension Of Vision Of Which Life Is Capable: The Projection Of Itself Into Other Lives. This Is The Lonely, Magnificent Power Of Humanity. It Is . . . The Supreme Epitome Of The Reaching Out.

It Has Been Asserted That We Are Destined To Know The Dark Beyond The Stars Before We Comprehend The Nature Of Our Own Journey.