...it Is Easy Not To Believe In

I Had No Hope. Yet Expectation Lived On In Me, The Last Thing She Had Left Behind. What Further Consummations, Mockeries, Torments Did I Still Anticipate? I Had No Idea As I Abided In The Unshaken Belief That The Time Of Cruel Wonders Was Not Yet Over.

Seduced, Shaggy Samson Snored. She Scissored Short. Sorely Shorn, Soon Shackled Slave, Samson Sighed, Silently Scheming, Sightlessly Seeking Some Savage, Spectacular Suicide.

Skepticism Is Like A Microscope Whose Magnification Is Constantly Increased: The Sharp Image That One Begins With Finally Dissolves, Because It Is Not Possible To See Ultimate Things: Their Existence Is Only To Be Inferred.

Mathematics Never Reveals Man To The Degree, Never Expresses Him In The Way, That Any Other Field Of Human Endeavour Does: The Extent Of The Negation Of Man's Corporeal Self That Mathematics Achieves Cannot Be Compared With Anything. Whoever Is Interested In This Subject I Refer To My Articles. Here I Will Say Only That The World Injected Its Patterns Into Human Language At The Very Inception Of That Language; Mathematics Sleeps In Every Utterance, And Can Only Be Discovered, Never Invented.

For Some Time There Was A Widely Held Notion (zealously Fostered By The Daily Press) To The Effect That The 'thinking Ocean' Of Solaris Was A Gigantic Brain, Prodigiously Well-developed And Several Million Years In Advance Of Our Own Civilization, A Sort Of 'cosmic Yogi', A Sage, A Symbol Of Omniscience, Which Had Long Ago Understood The Vanity Of All Action And For This Reason Had Retreated Into An Unbreakable Silence.