I Am The Place In Which Something

Scientific Knowledge Advances Haltingly And Is Stimulated By Contention And Doubt.

The Anthropologist Respects History, But He Does Not Accord It A Special Value. He Conceives It As A Study Complementary To His Own: One Of Them Unfurls The Range Of Human Societies In Time, The Other In Space.

No Contact With Savage Indian Tribes Has Ever Daunted Me More Than The Morning I Spent With An Old Lady Swathed In Woolies Who Compared Herself To A Rotten Herring Encased In A Block Of Ice.

While I Complain Of Being Able To Glimpse No More Than The Shadow Of The Past, I May Be Insensitive To Reality As It Is Taking Shape At This Very Moment, Since I Have Not Reached The Stage Of Development At Which I Would Be Capable Of Perceiving It. A Few Hundred Years Hence, In This Same Place, Another Traveller, As Despairing As Myself, Will Mourn The Disappearance Of What I Might Have Seen, But Failed To See.

Animals Are Good To Think With.