My Number Is 174517; We Have Been

A Man Who Would Mutilate Himself Is Well Damned, Isn't He?

If It Is True That There Is No Greater Sorrow Than To Remember A Happy Time In A State Of Misery, It Is Just As True That Calling Up A Moment Of Anguish In A Tranquil Mood, Seated Quietly At One's Desk, Is A Source Of Profound Satisfaction.

He Was A Physicist, More Precisely An Astrophysicist, Diligent And Eager But Without Illusions: The Truth Lay Beyond, Inaccessible To Our Telescopes, Accessible To The Initiates. This Was A Long Road Which He Was Traveling With Effort, Wonderment, And Profound Joy. Physics Was Prose: Elegant Gymnastics For The Mind, Mirror Of Creation, The Key To Man's Dominion Over The Planet; But What Is The Stature Of Creation, Of Man And The Planet? His Road Was Long And He Had Barely Started Up It, But I Was His Disciple: Did I Want To Follow Him?

We Must Be Listened To: Above And Beyond Our Personal Experience, We Have Collectively Witnessed A Fundamental Unexpected Event, Fundamental Precisely Because Unexpected, Not Foreseen By Anyone. It Happened, Therefore It Can Happen Again: This Is The Core Of What We Have To Say. It Can Happen, And It Can Happen Everywhere.

I Am Not Even Alive Enough To Know How To Kill Myself