The Hand Is The Cutting Edge Of

The Force That Makes The Winter Grow Its Feathered Hexagons Of Snow , And Drives The Bee To Match At Home Their Calculated Honeycomb, Is Abacus And Rose Combined. An Icy Sweetness Fills My Mind , A Sense That Under Thing And Wing Lies, Taut Yet Living , Coiled, The Spring .

Science Is A Very Human Form Of Knowledge. We Are Always At The Brink Of The Known; We Always Feel Forward For What Is To Be Hoped. Every Judgment In Science Stands On The Edge Of Error And Is Personal. Science Is A Tribute To What We Can Know Although We Are Fallible.

The Values By Which We Are To Survive Are Not Rules For Just And Unjust Conduct, But Are Those Deeper Illuminations In Whose Light Justice And Injustice, Good And Evil, Means And Ends Are Seen In Fearful Sharpness Of Outline.

Who Has Not Hoped To Outrage An Enemy's Dignity? Who Has Not Been Swept By The Wish To Hurt? And Who Has Not Thought That The Impersonal World Deserves No Better Than To Be Destroyed By One Fabulous Sign Of His Displeasure?

Sex Was Invented As A Biological Instrument By (say) The Green Algae. But As An Instrument In The Ascent Of Man Which Is Basic To His Cultural Evolution, It Was Invented By Man Himself.