We are one of many appearances of the thing called Life; we are not its perfect image, for it has no perfect image except Life, and life is multitudinous and emergent in the stream of time.

I am not nearly so interested in what monkey man was derived from as I am in what kind of monkey he is to become.

I was a shadow among shadows brooding over the fate of other shadows that I alone strove to summon up out of the all-pervading dusk.

The iron did not remember the blood it had once moved within, the phosphorous had forgot the savage brain.

God knows how many things a man misses by becoming smug and assuming that matters will take their own course.

Fire, as we have learned to our cost, has an insatiable hunger to be fed. It is a nonliving force that can even locomote itself.

Choices, more choices than we like afterward to believe, are made far backward in the innocence of childhood.