It's Soothing To Realize That My Mind's

Selling A Book Or Story Has Never Become Absolutely Automatic For Me.

It's A Waste To Chase The Pipe Dream Of A Magical Tiny Theory That Allows Us To Make Quick And Detailed Calculations About The Future. We Can't Predict And We Can't Control. To Accept This Can Be A Source Of Liberation And Inner Peace. We're Part Of The Unfolding World, Surfing The Chaotic Waves.

What Is The Shape Of Space? Is It Flat, Or Is It Bent? Is It Nicely Laid Out, Or Is It Warped And Shrunken? Is It Finite, Or Is It Infinite? Which Of The Following Does Space Resemble More: (a) A Sheet Of Paper, (b) An Endless Desert, (c) A Soap Bubble, (d) A Doughnut, (e) An Escher Drawing, (f) An Ice Cream Cone, (g) The Branches Of A Tree, Or (h) A Human Body?

When I See An Old Movie, Like From The ’40s Or ’50s Or ’60s, The People Look So Calm. They Don’t Have Smartphones, They’re Not Looking At Computer Screens, They’re Taking Their Time. They’ll Sit In A Chair And Just Stare Off Into Space. I Think Some Day We’ll Find Our Way Back To That Garden Of Eden.

Computations Are Everywhere, Once You Begin To Look At Things In A Certain Way.