Here we are in this wholly fantastic universe with scarcely a clue as to whether our existence has any real significance.

Outstanding examples of genius - a Mozart, a Shakespeare, or a Carl Friedrich Gauss - are markers on the path along which our species appears destined to tread.

Perhaps the most majestic feature of our whole existence is that while our intelligences are powerful enough to penetrate deeply into the evolution of this quite incredible Universe, we still have not the smallest clue to our own fate.

The universe is a put-up job.

Once a photograph of the Earth, taken from outside, is available, we shall, in an emotional sense, acquire an additional dimension.

A superintellect has monkeyed with physics.

I don't see the logic of rejecting data just because they seem incredible.