From the solitude of the wood, (Man) has passed to the more dreadful solitude of the heart.

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

From the solitude of the wood, (Man) has passed to the more dreadful solitude of the heart.

What if I am, in some way, only a sophisticated fire that has acquired an ability to regulate its rate of combustion and to hoard its fuel in order to see and walk?

Some degree of withdrawal serves to nurture man's creative powers. The artist and the scientist bring out of the dark void, like the mysterious universe itself, the unique, the strange, the unexpected. Numerous observers have testified upon the loneliness of the process.

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

Certainly science has moved forward. But when science progresses, it often opens vaster mysteries to our gaze. Moreover, science frequently discovers that it must abandon or modify what it once believed. Sometimes it ends by accepting what it has previously scorned.