I Call That Brilliant Sequence Of Cultural

The Force That Makes The Winter Grow Its Feathered Hexagons Of Snow , And Drives The Bee To Match At Home Their Calculated Honeycomb, Is Abacus And Rose Combined. An Icy Sweetness Fills My Mind , A Sense That Under Thing And Wing Lies, Taut Yet Living , Coiled, The Spring .

It Is Very Much Easier To Divide Your Outlook On The World Into Two Halves, To Say That You Know This Belongs To The Daily Half And This Belongs To The Sunday Half.

We Are A Scientific Civilization. That Means A Civilization In Which Knowledge And Its Integrity Are Crucial. Science Is Only A Latin Word For Knowledge ... Knowledge Is Our Destiny.

Who Has Not Hoped To Outrage An Enemy's Dignity? Who Has Not Been Swept By The Wish To Hurt? And Who Has Not Thought That The Impersonal World Deserves No Better Than To Be Destroyed By One Fabulous Sign Of His Displeasure?

But Nature - That Is, Biological Evolution - Has Not Fitted Man To Any Specific Environment. On The Contrary, ... He Has A Rather Crude Survival Kit; And Yet -this Is The Paradox Of The Human Condition - One That Fits Him To All Environments. Among The Multitude Of Animals Which Scamper, Fly, Burrow And Swim Around Us, Man Is The Only One Who Is Not Locked Into His Environment. His Imagination, His Reason, His Emotional Subtlety And Toughness, Make It Possible For Him Not To Accept The Environment But To Change It.