If There Is Magic On This Planet,

I Once Saw, On A Flower Pot In My Own Living Room, The Efforts Of A Field Mouse To Build A Remembered Field. I Have Lived To See This Episode Repeated In A Thousand Guises, And Since I Have Spent A Large Portion Of My Life In The Shade Of A Nonexistent Tree I Think I Am Entitled To Speak For The Field Mouse.

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.

In The Desert, An Old Monk Had Once Advised A Traveler, The Voices Of God And The Devil Are Scarcely Distinguishable.

If It Should Turn Out That We Have Mishandled Our Own Lives As Several Civilizations Before Us Have Done, It Seems A Pity That We Should Involve The Violet And The Tree Frog In Our Departure.

Many Of Us Who Walk To And Fro Upon Our Usual Tasks Are Prisoners Drawing Mental Maps Of Escape.