One Does Not Meet Oneself

Out Of The Choked Devonian Waters Emerged Sight And Sound And The Music That Rolls Invisible Through The Composer's Brain. They Are There Still In The Ooze Along The Tideline, Though No One Notices. The World Is Fixed, We Say: Fish In The Sea, Birds In The Air. But In The Mangrove Swamps By The Niger, Fish Climb Trees And Ogle Uneasy Naturalists Who Try Unsuccessfully To Chase Them Back To The Water. There Are Things Still Coming Ashore.

I Was A Shadow Among Shadows Brooding Over The Fate Of Other Shadows That I Alone Strove To Summon Up Out Of The All-pervading Dusk.

The Creature Called Man Has A Strange History. He Is Not Of One Piece, Nor Was He Born Of A Single Moment In Time. His Elementary Substance Is Stardust Almost As Old As The Universe.

The Future Is Neither Ahead Nor Behind, On One Side Or Another. Nor Is It Dark Or Light. It Is Contained Within Ourselves; Its Evil And Good Are Perpetually Within Us.

It Is Frequently The Tragedy Of The Great Artist, As It Is Of The Great Scientist, That He Frightens The Ordinary Man.