The future reshapes the memory of the past in the way it recalibrates significance; some episodes are advanced, others lose purchase.

So let my hands and my face make their way in this world, let my hungry eyes see, my tongue taste.

It’s the place of the story, beginning here, in the meadow of late summer flowers, thriving before the Atlantic storms drive wet and winter upon them all.

Science, my dears, is the systematic dissection of nature, to reduce it to working parts that more or less obey universal laws. Sorcery moves in the opposite direction. It doesn't rend, it repairs. It is synthesis rather than analysis. It builds anew rather than revealing the old. In the hands of someone truly skilled,...it is Art.

Doubt was much more energy efficient than conviction.

No wonder Wonderland isn't funny to read anymore: We live there full time. We need a break from it.

From torched skyscrapers, men grew wings.