Our Ability To Adapt And Therefore To

Science Is Turning Into A Monastery For The Order Of Capitulant Friars. Logical Calculus Is Supposed To Supersede Man As Moralist. We Submit To The Blackmail Of The 'superior Knowledge' That Has The Temerity To Assert That Nuclear War Can Be, By Derivation, A Good Thing, Because This Follows From Simple Arithmetic.

Each Civilization May Choose One Of Two Roads To Travel, That Is, Either Fret Itself To Death, Or Pet Itself To Death. And In The Course Of Doing One Or The Other, It Eats Its Way Into The Universe, Turning Cinders And Flinders Of Stars Into Toilet Seats, Pegs, Gears, Cigarette Holders And Pillowcases, And It Does This Because, Unable To Fathom The Universe, It Seeks To Change That Fathomlessness Into Something Fathomable.

Come, Let Us Hasten To A Higher Plane, Where Dyads Tread The Fairy Fields Of Venn, Their Indices Bedecked From One To _ N, Commingled In An Endless Markov Chain!

We Didn't Know Each Other Well. I Never Had The Time. Now I See That It Doesn't Make Any Difference. The Ones Who Hurry And The Ones Who Take Their Time All End Up In The Same Place. Just Don't Have Any Regrets. No Regrets.

Even A Fool Could See That One Didn't Need A War, Nuclear Or Otherwise, To Destroy Oneself; The Rising Cost Of Weaponry Could Do That Quite Nicely.