The Great Artist, Whether He

In The End, Science As We Know It Has Two Basic Types Of Practitioners. One Is The Educated Man Who Still Has A Controlled Sense Of Wonder Before The Universal Mystery, Whether It Hides In A Snail's Eye Or Within The Light That Impinges On That Delicate Organ. The Second Kind Of Observer Is The Extreme Reductionist Who Is So Busy Stripping Things Apart That The Tremendous Mystery Has Been Reduced To A Trifle, To Intangibles Not Worth Troubling One's Head About.

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.

Over The Whole Earth- This Infinitely Small Globe That Possesses All We Know Of Sunshine And Bird Song- An Unfamiliar Blight Is Creeping: Man- Man, Who Has Become At Last A Planetary Disease And Who Would, If His Technology Yet Permitted, Pass This Infection To Another Star.

There Is Nothing Very 'normal' About Nature.

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.