It Is A Commonplace Of All Religious

When Man Becomes Greater Than Nature, Nature, Which Gave Him Birth, Will Respond.

I No Longer Cared About Survival...i Merely Loved.

Nothing Grows Among Its Pinnacles; There Is No Shade Except Under Great Toadstools Of Sandstone Whose Bases Have Been Eaten To The Shape Of Wine Glasses By The Wind. Everything Is Flaking, Cracking, Disintegrating, Wearing Away In The Long, Inperceptible Weather Of Time. The Ash Of Ancient Volcanic Outbursts Still Sterilizes Its Soil, And Its Colors In That Waste Are The Colors That Flame In The Lonely Sunsets On Dead Planets.

It Has Been Said Repeatedly That One Can Never, Try As He Will, Get Around To The Front Of The Universe. Man Is Destined To See Only Its Far Side, To Realize Nature Only In Retreat.

After Chiding The Theologian For His Reliance On Myth And Miracle, Science Found Itself In The Unenviable Position Of Having To Create Mythology Of Its Own: Namely, The Assumption That What, After Long Effort, Could Not Be Proved To Take Place Today Had, In Truth, Taken Place In The Primeval Past.