I Believe In No Final Solutions.

The Night Stared Me In The Face, Amorphous, Blind, Infinite, Without Frontiers. Not A Single Start Relieved The Darkness Behind The Glass.

I Never Read To Kill Time. Killing Time Is Like Killing Someone's Wife Or A Child. There Is Nothing More Precious For Me Than Time.

Man's Quest For Knowledge Is An Expanding Series Whose Limit Is Infinity, But Philosophy Seeks To Attain That Limit At One Blow, By A Short Circuit Providing The Certainty Of Complete And Inalterable Truth. Science Meanwhile Advances At Its Gradual Pace, Often Slowing To A Crawl, And For Periods It Even Walks In Place, But Eventually It Reaches The Various Ultimate Trenches Dug By Philosophical Thought, And, Quite Heedless Of The Fact That It Is Not Supposed To Be Able To Cross Those Final Barriers To The Intellect, Goes Right On.

My Pessimism (which, By The Way, Is Far From Absolute) Originated With My Despair In The Lack Of Perfection To Be Found In Human Nature. I Was Attempting In My Successive Books To Show The Inevitable Handicap Of The Human Condition.

We Are Like Snails, Each Stuck To His Own Leaf.