Man inhabits a realm half in and half out of nature, his mind reaching forever beyond the tool, the uniformity, the law, into some realm which is that of the mind alone.

Like the herd animals we are, we sniff warily at the strange one among us.

Every time we walk along a beach some ancient urge disturbs us so that we find ourselves shedding shoes and garments or scavenging among seaweed and whitened timbers like the homesick refugees of a long war.

The creature called man has a strange history. He is not of one piece, nor was he born of a single moment in time. His elementary substance is stardust almost as old as the universe.

Man is always marveling at what he has blown apart, never at what the universe has put together, and this is his limitation.

It is frequently the tragedy of the great artist, as it is of the great scientist, that he frightens the ordinary man.

You think that way as you begin to get grayer and you see pretty plainly that the game is not going to end as you planned.